Short Steepled Poems

Above the moon flocked, steepled pines
     Eternal sky - the hallowed night
      Celestial alms of grand designs
    Sing silent psalms in ancient light...

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PATRIOTISM 

Red, white and blue ribbons with stars
surrounding my head, hand over heart

Kneeling in the Catholic pew, steepled hands
point upwards to my allegiance start

Stars kneel not to pray but to belie their point
of origin, where amber grain waves part

11/3/2017
Modern Sijo...

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Then a little, my bit of space.  That my heart 
is the boundless country with open joy and mind, 
you are a tallest roof with steeple’d tears.  
The taste, bring me sweet my love and salt.  
No wounds but healing thoughts.  
   Love you you love
   You kiss kiss you
We hug.
Laugh and sleep to awaken again
   Together as always as together.
Us.

:: 08-23-2017 ::...

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Weepers with hoods —
tear-stained, faceless.
Dirge monks with shields.

Knight of the golden fleece
on a slab in requiem.
The silent mouth of Cicero.

Fell in love with this funereal piece
— Tomb of Philippe Pot
with life-sized pleurants.

His hands steepled in prayer,
a lion in repose at his feet —
Grand Seneschal of Burgundy

9/28/2020
Tomb of Philippe Pot
Louvre Museum...

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At last, a welcomed light Autumn breeze,
Whistling passed steepled roofs,
Gently lifting branches of the bowing sycamore trees
Lining dull gray sidewalks still toasty warm
From the sweltering heat of the day before;
Departing summer flees threads of deep purple clouds
Leaching westward from the eastern sky,
Inky streams clawing their way into lighter shades of dusk,
The new season has cast her dye....

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A hollow whisper in my ear,
a voice that I alone can hear,
the soldier seen in camouflage,
a ghostly desert storm mirage.

I feel the cat jump on the bed,
but cannot look, too filled with dread,
people glimpsed and then not there,
vanished, gone into thin air.

The doctor's hands are stiffly steepled,
when you say you've seen dead people.
Are all these visions in my mind?
psychic/psychotic: such a fine line.


©Danielle White...

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I had a dog way back when
With white teeth and tail a wag
He slept so fine in steepled den
Crunched on a chicken, like a rag

With eyes of brown, and fur of black
Patrolled the farm, a canine cop
The silly cats he would attack
And barking noise should never stop

One snowy day he disappeared
Walking a road he often trod
Did not return, as I feared
Where was my dog? I asked God

Then one night, I heard him bark
My friend returned in pitch dark...

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