Eonia--The Timeless Moment (Audio Poem)

Arise, Sun, to declare;
Awaken, Dawn, to trumpet.
Morning, send out your reddened rays.
Call rooster: The black night ends!
All the bustle and the wonder of newness spark in the air.
Crisp lies the frost on the first of January.

Arise and shine,
Birth of much anticipation.
Your gestation ended, we await your arrival--
Squall your newborn cry.
Tears in our eyes, laughter in our hearts, mouths agape:
You are here! You are here! You are here!

The Little, Epical Hero (Audio Poem)

You roar with fierceness and fury
Behind those shining eyes.
You stalk and hide and hunt. . .
Beneath the trees in our yard.

Four years of wildness
expressing five thousand years of feral passion.
You are the little, epical hero--
an archetype and symbol.

You are the shaper of fortunes and maker of dreams.
God has put manhood in your heart,
and wrapped strength in your little boy arms.
You share the blessing of ages
and the curse of the Denouement.

The wilderness will open before you
like the doors of a palace.
You will sit at the table of Arthur;
Stand in presence of Alexander.
Your heart will pulse to the drums at Troy and Antietam.
Your breath will be the wind in Magellan's sails

Because God has a plan for you,
The Man He has made in His image.

Marilyn Adair (Audio Poem)

Where were you when I went out to find you?

I looked..I called, but you would never answer.
You were elusive as a shadow when the light is turned out
and I am left to trace my way, by memory, to bed.

I tried to remember your face,
but I can recall only a smile or your brown-black eyes,
the color of a charred, burned-out house--
no unity can be reconstructed--
a dimple, a cheek, your hair, your laughter;
almost you are brought together,
but then the parts are repelled and refuse assimilation.

You are darkness--
sometimes everywhere, sometimes nowhere--
here when I peer inside.

I tried to remember your voice,
its lilt, its music, its note and slant;
I remember only your words and these are too few.

All your words are infused with my voice,
the one speaking to me when I think or dream or remember or imagine.

You told me once to look at a candle's flame
flickering, bending, twirling over a pool of molten wax.
You told me it looked like a skater gliding over ice;

I saw her twirl and jump and slide.
I see her now: I remember her. . . Remember the candle--red.
I remember how dark the room was with only the candle lighting it:

But you elude me, and your voice.