Without A Motive


Is it true what have been said?
That faith creates the finest looks
That beauty grows from winter trees
From icy moors and stiffened seas.

And is it true that the bare branches
Have caught all life in the early buds
And young days of shining smiles 
give pure mirth and spiritual light.

Can I trust my sleeping mind?
In these so early moments 
That tender, but flickering flames
From my gloomy windows, move
Like gracious but shivering signs.

And in my options of accepted audit
will I hereby leave for more a day?
To give an unbroken substantial limit 
To find itself and in that, thyself to stay.

Copyright 13th of March  kc.

A little Wile a Little While

A Little While, A Little While
 A LITTLE while, a little while,
 The weary task is put away,
 And I can sing and I can smile,
 Alike, while I have holiday.
 Where wilt thou go, my harassed  heart
 What thought, what scene invites thee now
 What spot, or near or far apart,
 Has rest for thee, my weary brow?
 There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,
 Where winter howls, and driving rain;
 But, if the dreary tempest chills,
 There is a light that warms again.
 The house is old, the trees are bare,
 Moonless above bends twilight's dome;
 But what on earth is half so dear--
 So longed for--as the hearth of home?
 The mute bird sitting on the stone,
 The dank moss dripping from the wall,
 The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
 I love them--how I love them all!
 Still, as I mused, the naked room,
 The alien firelight died away;
 And from the midst of cheerless gloom,
 I passed to bright, unclouded day.
 A little and a lone green lane
 That opened on a common wide;
 A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
 Of mountains circling every side
 A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
 So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
 And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
 Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.
 That was the scene, I knew it well;
 I knew the turfy pathway's sweep,
 That, winding o'er each billowy swell,
 Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.
 Could I have lingered but an hour,
 It well had paid a week of toil;
 But Truth has banished Fancy's power:
 Restraint and heavy task recoil.
 Even as I stood with raptured eye,
 Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear,
 My hour of rest had fleeted by,
 And back came labour, bondage, care.
 Emily Bronte

A Dream in St. Valentine

A Dream in St.Valentine.
When morning capture the strength of noble range
That beams over the red and blue coloured sky
My dream lies in my labouring chest
Now drowned by the mounted wind
Like a breath fringed with fire.
The maze of every bells from unrested motions
That never made you sad before
Now calling in my aching spirit
From ancient Gods in greyish beard
And long white dresses
Returning from thousand years of war.
My hope of unaccomplished years
Should keep you safe, but still so much remains
That never cried or emptied your bright eyes
Before time in riper buds will come
And you yourself as the rose of beauty
Stay high above all evil, and frosty leaves should die.
Now in this early motion of my new day
I paint a prisoner behind the wall of glass
That keep her longing for many years and days
When fresh repair enchants the broken trust
Back to summer thoughts and newly perfumed scent,
resembling the young fragrance of your smile.
Now for your starlit eyes so strongly alive,
What more can be said and what more can be praised
That beauty of your childish appearance glow.
And Then may I hide my shyness, and tell
That in the deep of those eyes, my love forever dwell.
February 2021 Copyright kc.

Winter Time

Winter Time
Inspired by the Snowy Queen that keep my company
During the night.
When all the treasure of our lusty days
Lies still in the prison of my mind
That captured the light, the night, and the day
Now buried under the frosty ground
Just waiting for The King of Winter to arrive.
I am no Queen myself, only a figure as a stony cliff
A mountain of the strongest nature
A hard and secure building in noble granite
I safely wear the head I was born with
Fetched with chains to the ground, but easily canter
Never missing my steps, my foreseen and labourers Hight.
And here, from now I must work,
From inside of the high mountain
Crossing the stones in the flames of the igneous rock
And from the deep of the planet’s mantel of crust.
Slowly rising my head towards the morning sun
I am falling apart but growing on the ground
As an image of the three goddesses, of Music
Poetry and Song.
Febraury 2021 kc

I Know A Wind

 I Know A Wind
 I know the wind of wisdom and how to give you wit
 And in return the crown of a King your heart will fit
 The lovely gaze of your eyes, filling joy and happiness
 And music for your ears that will last 
 for more than hundred years.
 I know another wind with lustrous colour of gold
 That the hideous winter in time will be gone
 The time we know as a never resting friend
 I paint on my window until the ice and snow 
 Forever end.
 I know a third wind of shimmering stars
 Embroidering my life with great excitement 
 The sunbeams to dress my sad heart
 Making my breath blowing faith and hope
 For all the power that dried my tears
 And A new day to start.
 Copyright January 2021

A Miracle

A Miracle.
I can´t find the right words
Those words that swirling around in my mind
Leaving a picture of what I´ve seen
And what I today have learned as a fact
Fast Running in my blood and my veins.
Without any tendency to stop.
Here I stand, on the shore to eternity
Waiting, these last few days of the year
Soon gone with the wind and buried
In the mortal clouds,
falling like the flowers I planted for you.
Looking around myself, seeing nothing
Listening, but all is still and silent
Not a sound from the passing birds
No growing of the sprouting seeds
I left last summer among the weeds.
And I was told to believe in miracles.
I have no God creating miracles or wonders
No, my lonely path creates its own miracles
Of wonders in life and about life
When I wander among the wet pebbles
and from the ancestor’s footsteps in the sand.
And how would It be possible to believe
When we get punished at least every 100-years
Of a deadly weapon, war, epidemics or sickness  
the Black Death, laming, cutting off our intelligence
Erasing a whole mankind from the earth.

Just in time to take the darkness in your arms.
That is a Miracle.