Just as the Sun begins winding down,
ending its day shift on some longitudes,
it mellows, becomes kinder,
shadows once stunted under its fierce glare
grow longer and amble alongside
those venturing homeward,
longingly, seeking comfort of loved faces and places.
The sun peeks through long green tresses
of weeping willows which sway
like children on swings higher and higher,
until winds stop and branches swing low
and the next wave blows them all high once more.
Flaxen cattails bend low like subjects
to an invisible Emperor passing by
bobbing in obeisance, their robes rustling
like thousand silver leaves rattling a song.
The sky too tries on evening wear turning from blue
to a rosé champagne, or ambrosia tinged blue
to bid adieu and show gratitude to the setting sun
settling later on sheer dark cobalt organza
and finally wearing a dark velvet studded with stars.
If Poetry must see the delight there be
in a poet sitting in still silence watching it all.
Lotus leaves on the wind driven pond,
unfurl in the setting sunlight,
turning green to russet gold, and burnished copper,
the lilies have hidden their heads on beds of leaves
as they prepare to sleep for the night,
to awake once more on the morrow in gratitude
with bright flushed smiles for a new day,
heralded by a rising sun glinting on the lake.
Poetry reminds beggar and king
that life gives us all new beginnings,
a daily tabula rasa to inscribe love anew
and renew each soul that crosses our path
in poetic deeds releasing fragrances
from flowers of friendship, faith and charity,
so each soul’s a perfume that in strength arises
before the God of Love as fragrant verses of Poetry
Charlie Bottle's passion is poetry. He has lived on three continents, speaks five languages and loves different cultures, people, music and food. He believes that "Poetry uses the economy of words to express the essence of our humanity." It is this magical use of brevity to express the profound that drew him to poetry. While his professional and personal life has pulled him in different directions, He continues in his discipleship of the craft and writes whenever the muse moves him. While English is his second language it is the language in which he lives, breathes, thinks and writes poetry.