Dreary Days

The days are blown by wind and rain,
Fading light yearns with a beam of flame,
Shone on my dimmed eye with sudden pain,
Gather the good earth to hide the shame.

Swift as the sparkle to the mountain,—
Smooths these green banks with a tender sign,
With herb that rock, by forest fountain,
In the softest way of my changes shine.

Stoic Poetry


In The Woods

In the wishing woods I long to dwell,
Where nature flits and casts her spells.
Amidst the stories the trees tell,
My heart beats faster in the dell.

The woods are a place of sweet respite,
Where I can wander without care,
In the dappled sunlight.
Where there is no struggle nor is there fight,
Between who is wrong and who is right.

The rustling leaves and trickling streams,
A lullaby breaks from earthly dreams.
In this peaceful place, or so it seems,
Wishes become whole as they should have been.

So let me stay in this enchanted glade,
Where troubles die and wanting fades.
Within the wishing woods, I will find my shade,
And forever more may my head be laid.

Stoic Poetry

Feel The Rain

Forboding skies where we roam
Feel the rain among widswept trees
Heaving Earth and lifting stones
Colliding in sounds, pure harmony

I need to be closer, I need to run
You need to be faster or I will catch up
Havoc rising high as we draw nearer
Now we need to prepare for what’s to come

Stoic Poetry

In Peace

In days to come, all will cease
When time runs out of history
When no one is left to blame
Then will we know the mystery

When wars have been fought
When nothing has been won
Unwilling warriors laid to rest
No one left to mourn
Not a single one

Stoic Poetry

On The Horizon

The event horizon breaches
Sunlight washing a world
Upon crystalline field’s
Frosted diamonds shine

The point of no return
As the new day breaks
For all to see; few do
The eternal cares not

One world of many, alone
Le point verge, of this one
Never to be denied or lost
Observing the point of all

Stoic Poetry

Whispers Upon The Wind

The softest voice
Brings a smile to my face
Secrets are shared
In this holiest place

Boughs creak and sway
Reaching out to me
Listening to what they say
Whispers of what will be

We talk of seasons past
Of those yet to come
Of things that will last
And where we are from

But the day grows long
So I must take my leave
While they whisper a song
To the story they weave

Stoic Poetry

First Snow

The first snow of winter falls
Beyond these frosted panes
Feather dust upon the grass
As no season is meant to last

Soon a blanket of winter down
Will spread its wings around
While spring slumbers below
Waiting beneath the fallen snow

Stoic Poetry


Upon sun baked crust
Decades of abuse known
Tears fall through cracks
Upon dead seeds sown

Heavens open up to weep
This toxic deluge of tears
Spilling, falling from hope
For natural life to reappear

Stoic Poetry