Dark Sky
High in the black sky
Like a bright moving red star
A lonely airplane ploughs the night
A blinking rhyme of ruby light
Crossing the dark
Between the twinkling diamonds
Of the constellation Ursa Major.
The yellow crescent
Of the curious moon
Stares down on the orphan earth
And I wonder whether its
Clement melodious rays
Will console your gentle soul
And bring solace to your solitude.
poem by Paul Hartal
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The Winter Talks to the Spring
Listen
to the rain.
It talks
to the wind.
Through
the open window
the magic of the night
descends
on the room.
Listen
to the wind.
It talks
to the rain.
Your hands
are
so warm
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poem by Paul Hartal
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Four Seasons
Maple leaves of yesterday
Rainbow leaves of morrow
Autumn strolls on its way
Time it fails to borrow.
Ice crystals of yesterday
Snow flowers of morrow
Winter roves on a dray
Time it fails to borrow.
Oak leaves of yesterday
Verdant leaves of morrow
April flows into May
Time it fails to borrow.
Blue blossoms of yesterday
Forget-me-not of morrow
Summer rides a railway
Love overcomes sorrow.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Sang froid
The earl picked up an early peach
Then walked alone to the beach.
He sailed away in a little boat
Leaving behind a one line note.
I will be back by five o’clock,
Said the writing on the lock.
But a huge wave had sunk his boat
Forcing him to swim in his coat.
Still, by five he arrived at home,
Changed to dry clothes, read a tome.
Then to his wife he said smiling:
Wet Ocean, but swim was trifling.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Immortality
When I die
Bury me under the Tree of Love.
So my heart never stops to beat.
I will live in every cell of your flesh,
I will live in every chamber of your soul.
Words of solace scatter in the wind,
The sound of violin does not dissolve the night.
Yet time does come to a stand in eternity:
Longer than poetry and art
In remembrance I will live,
And through true love survive
Even the death of memory.
poem by Paul Hartal
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The Universe Writes A Poem
The universe is a poet.
She looked at him
with a forgiving smile.
How would you know that?
Well, the credo flows
from the unity
of the knower and the known,
he said.
Besides,
symmetry involves reciprocity.
And the holographic qualities
of the cosmos imply
that just as the poet
is part of the universe,
the universe is part
of the poet, too.
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poem by Paul Hartal
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The Eighth Unwritten Ballad
On the dark lake of the unplumbed
Mixed with the orchestrated arias of winds
The eighth unwritten ballad floats.
Somnolent sparks coruscate
In ethereal tints
Gutta-percha words struggle and wither
Tired syllables reverberate
Chocolate sounds stretch and gather
Marvel in the sunshine
Collapse, unfold and mingle.
As remote tambourines jingle
Eight seagulls fly in a curved line
Like pilgrims in the formless stratum
Of the unknown.
poem by Paul Hartal
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She Lit up the Candles
When
her daughter died
she said
there is no God
in Heaven.
Still
the years
floated away
with the waters
of the rivers
as life
went on.
One day
returning home
from
the frozen street
she
opened the door
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poem by Paul Hartal
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My Life
My life is a Corinthian acanthus leaf
On an intricately carved classic column
Enchanted pellucid palace
Silent opaque sandglass
On an amethyst shelf
Byzantine transition
From circle to sphere.
My works are gothic objects
Frail violins
Of crystal madrigals
Bizarre rococo laces
In a darkly rich coloured interior
And sometimes as I stare at them
They are strange and unknown to me
Like my own hand and fingers
At three o’clock A.M.
poem by Paul Hartal
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On the Killing Fields
I did not learn from books
About the horrors of war
I was soaked in them
On the killing fields
Amid exploding shells
Frightened and savage.
I did not watch movies
To see dead bodies
Lying on green meadows
I saw them with my own eyes
The raging fires
The engulfing flames
In the blazing tanks.
The sun was shining
It was a balmy
And beautiful day
As the summer wind carried
The nauseating smell
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poem by Paul Hartal
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