Sunday, April 3, 2011

New Poetry By Ron Koppelberger

Ron Koppelberger
Hearth fires
Hearth fires and mantles , woven quilts and sweet spicy
Scents in hazy ways of eternity, deeply burnished
On the surface of oaken passage, in baptisms of love and warm fires
Of redemption, the lives of lovers and ancient
Tribes by painted blossoms and dried leaves in fall
Ambiance, in seasons of sanctity and perfect
Perfume, a shadow in awakening guarantee, in emphatic
Journeys of holy bond , by grandmothers in paper vesture, by
The resounding address of untouched love and
                                                                         Romantic pasts.

Ron Koppelberger
Lyrical Vapors
Nurtured by blessings in velvet and wayward paths,
Secreted by enchanting escape, a sustenance conveyed
By the way gone tomorrow, preferred by the sparrows desire
For sermons in excess of song and gentle theaters of
Romance, by sweet lyrical vapors and swallows of rhy, the
Breath before a rhythm of January chill, on cool melodies
Of delirium and mazy tempests in fortune, beautiful by challenged,
Emergent mists in ivory fingered
Fields of

Ron Koppelberger
The Essence of a Fly
Something uneven, removed from the tangle
Of twine, vaguely favored by dust motes
And ancient spider decor, the essence of hunger defined
By the saga of the fly and the dreams of silken weavers
In harmony with natures harvest, a persevering pause
In prayer for the flutter of eager delights
And spun stairs in teetering tenants
And enduring passions of innate conflict, by strands of bond between
Legged constructions and the winds of chance owed to the
Essence of a fly.

Ron Koppelberger
Gypsy Moth
Exiled by the touch of a maidens song,
By the nightmare rhythms told unto the
Better part of a ghosts wont, led by the cattail sway
Of possums crashing in forest deep and sparrows
Roosting in breaths of vigilant guard,
The seductive enchantments of a dark eyed
Glance and the sound of a nightingale
Shadow, frayed in the last loves
Of a spectral gypsy

Ron Koppelberger
A Dry Day in Desert Plains
Impregnable in desert knots of foraging, wandering
Scratch, a tender-foot starvation gone west in pale-
Faced passage and gentle slopes of sand, spurs and green-eyed approach.
The rest, the way to distant dreams and ghost
Town sustenance and wild hearts in whiskey shots
And valleys bidden by the time between sleep
And conscious adventures
In salty raindrops of trade, for the sake
Of a new day in dry desert plains.

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