Kurt Hearth Poems

From the time christened warrior,
‘round his neck, tied by thong.
It like a talisman, mysterious,
the buckskin pouch hung.
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How can I touch,
touch my God?
How many ways,
can my God touch me?
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Sinister rack, on yon horizon appeared.
As if on parade, cloud bank advanced.
Obvious, glad tidings they carried not.
Soon, bright sun those nimbus obscured.
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In the tiny hamlet nestled,
at the foot of the castle’s ruin.
Townsfolk relate a legend,
of one ruler, claimed his own prison
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Beneath golden sun, hanging high,
in endless indigo heaven.
At the water’s edge, shoeless, I meandered.
In wavelets lapping peacefully, on white sand beach.
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Take a peaceful summer day
from atop a green clad hill.
Caressed by a kiss of breeze
Birds serenade yet all is still.
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The ivory glow of the house lights dim
then come alive again.
A signal to the audience
their journey is about to begin.
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A spark flickers
a bright flame glows.
Pushing shadows back
one candle burns.
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Like behemoths sunning themselves.
The shiny fire engines
sat before the cavelike doors
that led to their den.
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From its station
with great span
of wings outspread.
I watched the eagle.
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