Claire V. Bogdanos

Acceptance,Knowledge,Love,New Chapter,Process,Wisdom,

THE OWL ( 1964 ) 2013/02/16

Filed under: POEMS.....THOUGHTS.....MEMORIES — bogdanosclaire @ 4:51 pm
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Who is there, steadfast and still,

On that limb, odd whippoorwill?

Silent creature, feared and grim,

Cursed with failing vision dim,

Nighttime vulture of the sky,

Casts about with blinking eye,

While some fated victim eat,

Seek another morsel sweet.

Harsh and distant mutiny,

Bird defies man’s scrutiny.

With wistful, somber hooting,

This clumsy awkward looting

Denizen of deepest night,

Swooping quickly, in short flight,

Calls to mind a question bold.

Does he live to be quite old?

 

And if true, can he be wise,

Or is legend some mere guise?

Why should I grow faint and chill

Fearing he upon that hill?

How can bird know more than I?

Would I learn if I  could fly?

Many a query fills my mind,

Many a day my heart has pined

To fly with him into the world,

As thoughts into a whirlwind hurled.

Then watch, as shadows go to sleep

And listen, as the willows weep.

I wonder if his life is spent

Complete, beneath God’s moonlit tent,

There, sup on mice and running stream.

How does he live without a dream?

 

THE LONDON THAMES ( 1979 )

Filed under: POEMS.....THOUGHTS.....MEMORIES — bogdanosclaire @ 4:44 pm
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Muddy river, swiftly flowing,

with the tide, its volume growing,

Passing quickly toward the sea,

brown and laden, yet racing free.

Towers tall, interspersed and spare,

chimneys risen above the air,

Spires stretched among bleak-shrouded sky,

ugly and pale, afflict the eye.

 

This waning ghost of what had been

past history, both grand and grim,

Whose tales are sung in legend bold

with aging time, lost truths unfold.

Some patch of blossoms crowd her banks ,

where pilings gray form solid ranks,

One does not hear the rush of oars,

nor plays a child along her shores.

 

This river flows into the sea,

in vast attack by staunch army,

A noble force with wasted prime,

that suffered sad effects of time.

There heroes brave once paced the sod,

and glory old, her bridges trod,

Those golden days, now much forgot,

that hailed the truth of Camelot.

 

SCOTLAND ( 1978 )

Filed under: POEMS.....THOUGHTS.....MEMORIES — bogdanosclaire @ 4:44 pm
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Swiftly changing moody skies, sulking now, and gray,

Rimmed about with verdant edges blazing away,

Clamoring vines, that bloom aloud in noisy crowds,

Crowning all of this are hills of black, piercing clouds,

A patchwork quilt against the backdrop of cold sky

Where field duck, geese and gull, propitiously, do fly.

Winding rivers that shine like a pasteboard display

Abundant with dwellings that seem modeled of clay,

Rigid stanchions of forest commanding the scene

Of woodlands in limbo, sound asleep and serene,

Her bonnie green cramming every top of each mount

With visions of heraldry the mind cannot count,

Fields polka-dotted with sheep and black angus steer,

And there, in the distance, some tall tower appears,

Like a lone sentinel in its halo of white,

To stand, guarding late exit of day into night.

Castles ringed with her magic and filled with her ghosts,

Past miles of rock-studded farms, west on to the coast,

From Dundee to Carstairs, and down to Scot’s Glen,

Making straight for the sea, by the way of Girvan,

A sight full of splendor and eternally green,

Like a shimmering torch, and a gem for her queen.

 

SHADOWS’ MIGHT ( 1951 )

Filed under: POEMS.....THOUGHTS.....MEMORIES — bogdanosclaire @ 4:38 pm
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The underlings of trees that seem so strangely bare,

Cringe, stifled without breath, height’s freedom cannot share,

For lack of space, live shaded from the day’s bright eye,

Now, briefly, in the wind, do reach to see the sky.

While in the forest’s darkness that much resembles night,

The lonely moss rose blooms , less benefit of light.

If we might pluck that flower, take it in our hand,

Observe those velvet arms, thus try to understand

How thrives this prickless blossom in such cool shadow,

Which lonesome flourished with no thought to taller grow.

In darkness, stifled, still, do other creatures breed

With spectrum overcast, they struggle to succeed,

Survive sad lack of care that elongates their height

And straining, reach the sky to bathe in warm sunlight,

Derelicts of denial exist with will instead,

Matured in other ways by force that’s been inbred.

 

DIRECTION ( 1978 )

Filed under: POEMS.....THOUGHTS.....MEMORIES — bogdanosclaire @ 4:36 pm
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Now weep my love, for days that are no more,

Now sleep my love, to dream one last encore,

Then wake my love to face the world again,

And smile my love, it has not been in vain.

 

Arise my love, and teach your heart take heed,

Be strong my love and force yourself to need,

It’s over, love, there’s nothing left to keep

It’s over now, truth lost and love asleep.

 

Thus when each new tomorrow dawns today

To slowly slip into just yesterday

The pages of our story gently fold

And as pressed leaves twixt Job and Psalm, wax old.

 

Then, my love, reach forth to touch the morrow

Failing to remember shades of sorrow

Breathing thoughts as bold as all eternity

And idle dreams that swell with vanity.

 

Confess my love that life must be confined

To purpose real, mock goals for cause declined,

Justice meet dimension in manner chaste

Pursuing life in seeming sense, make haste.

 

DEVOTION ( 1978 )

Filed under: POEMS.....THOUGHTS.....MEMORIES — bogdanosclaire @ 4:22 pm
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There are two lying close together, sleeping side by side,

That warm sensation surging, like an elevated ride,

Pulsing, throbbing, yet they fearing nothing, all thought recede,

Caring, hoping, wanting, blending feeling with subtle need.

Awaken, turn to face each other, desire reaching out,

And touching, filling the void that compassion is about.

 

Put fantasy in motion while forsaking lustful pride,

One man, one woman, secret thoughts and visions to confide,

Gentle cravings, swaying, moving with manner not profaned

Between pleasure and lust, delicate balance thus contained,

Caressing with a passion not akin to tenderness

No time to doubt, or cause to labor their own happiness.

 

Leave, shackles of the past aside, peril lagging behind,

To defend the marvel of love that dwells not in the mind,

Like a foreign continent waiting sweet exploration,

Caution flown, let loving grow, although of short duration,

Call it lust, yet know that there is more to this emotion,

To smile, to touch, to share what may be discreet devotion.