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Will You Come In
It is easy enough
The door is open
Come right on it
We deal in coping
See the light in
The window for you
It shadows sin
Lets the goodness in
You don't have
To say a word
Come in softly
You'll be heard
And if you come in
You'll be held the day
In angel's wings
In a most gentle way
You might cry
Be sad and sigh
He shall hear you
On the High
Or you may smile
With joy filled heart
Just come in, and
Of love impart
Will you come in?
You know you can ~
For you are a part
Of God's great plan.
© Karilea Rilling Jungel
12-10-2000
~*~
Silent
Applause
I see her in the Corner Pub,
and I see him here as well,
as this is
no longer a place
just for libation
but for the seekers
and searchers and
those who have this
passion for words
they, the poets
who are not really trying to
prove a point other than their
existence, not looking
for fame or fortune
but just sharing
the thoughts
of
treasured terminology
a lost science
brought back to life with
her breath and his
breath and the
feelings that
wing on in
that little
café’s
light
can you hear it?
She speaks, he speaks
and the feelings emanate out
and on, and touch you right…here…
and you know, you know
you don’t want to try to
outdo them, you just
want to do it as well
as they did, and
have your words
touch someone,
right…
here…
can you feel it?
low light, candleflame shadows
waxy scents of innocence
belied by the way the
words progress
through the
stillness
and it’s
not
1963
anymore
they don’t look like hippies or
yippies or strange but more like
you, accomplished
faces staring at the pages
of yellow sheets and
white pages, reading
from them the made-up
and/or innermost
feelings
to see
if they
have
the
sleight of hand
to impose and pass it on
to you.
So the new breed is here
the poets of today
and we won’t click
our fingers or clap
when the best of
words reach our
ears, but instead
we will look warmly
at the poet and
smile and our
eyes will tear up
once the phrases
have reached our
souls, and we will then
smile again, and glow upon the
author of the words
the poets here
in the Corner Pub.
© Karilea Rilling Jungel
10-26-2000
~*~
Deep,
Deep Within
Deep within the soul
the silent longing is there,
painfully, woefully stubborn,
making it hard to breathe
or take a deep breath.
A sensation of reaching,
there, down deep, holding on
to the mind's most fleeting thought,
discarding even love, for a
brief answer to agony.
How best to resolve this
indisputable emotion, that
centers itself into a pit of desire,
not for love, but for a brief
sharing of bidding well.
I know the answer, for
it has always been within me,
but there are times where I fail
to impart a sense of urgency,
and the failure pains me.
It is somewhat like a
lonesome strain of one violin,
a lingering note, reaching out for
one other to hear, understand,
beautiful in loneliness.
For to share so much
so that another is touched
by the beauty of some words,
this lingering feeling still
doesn't let me breathe.
©KRJ
9 October 1999
~*~
Rainer
Sits My
Shadow
Rainer
sits my shadow holding tender my thoughts
In his indescribable poet’s hands.
I did not know him at first,
Though fortunately a fellow poet
Introduced us, and through the introduction,
He visits me now, often.
I asked his ghost to converse in an easy sort of way,
Of what was, and perhaps, what will be.
He sat, silently, almost broodingly,
His hooded brows over dark eyes,
His blood conveying silent thoughts
That only my Quill could hear.
Then my Quill spilled like tears
Rainer’s psyche into my soul
Of all that has ever been inside my mind
That aches to be released.
The knowledge that what lines unleashed
Are never enough.
And he transmits, that a poet never says,
this is adequate,
But reaches once again for the unsayable
To find a way to verse it just so,
And he whispers that a poet
Experiments with all feelings,
In all writings, in all ways, with every breath.
And he conveys that a poet does not,
No, never does he, no, not once stop writing,
For to do so, would be to give up on light,
And feathers.
It would be to quit believing
In awe-inspirational shadows
That speak to poets in the quiet
Through their quill to their soul,
Or that shadows ~ Believe ~
In the unsayable.
© Karilea Rilling Jungel
02-17-03
~*~
The
Quill’s Feather
By my soul
so very long ago
she took me in her pink-white hands
and bade me write, strand by strand.
Dipping my tip
in the blackest ink
she put her thoughts on paper fine
feelings that she shared were partly mine.
She knew not
my feelings when
her liquid feelings flowed from my pen
knowing I would write for her again, and again.
She took time
putting to black line
her deepest passions left unheard
except for these here, her written words.
Penmanship
extraordinaire
writing with beauty, grace, flair
keeping her loving words safely here.
When feelings
became warm
she would clutch me tighter, then
the feather at my top would quiver when
She caught
her own gasp
at the lines of devotion she wrote down
feelings of love she would within drown, drown.
Those were
the times best
when quivering feather laid to rest
for love’s passion had met passion’s test.
6 October, 1999
©KRJ
~*~
She
Looked At You
She stood quite quiet, she emoted cool
just one look at her, yes, nobody’s fool;
her temper soothing, her demeanor so calm
she was restful to see, no uttered qualm…
But when she looked at you…
First, you’re taken in by her eyes of green
fine lined wrinkles of smiles often seen
and straight-away she gazes at you so steadily
right back into your eyes, as your soul she sees…
Next, her body is perfect, for a woman her age,
you can see she’s been hugged, perhaps walked a stage;
no airs nor swagger, nor feminine wiles
she’s solid, not stolid, she’ll go many more miles.
But when she looked at you…
There was something about her, it was in the air
not a forbidden scent no, something beyond compare,
yes, something about her, yes, you may think…
ah, it was when she caught your soul, with her quiet
wink.
She stood there poised, but just on the brink
she watched your face, and knows what you think;
quiet contemplation, with face quite serene
but the wink brought forth to mind, a laughing queen.
So when she looked at you…
She made you quite pleased to be in the same room
you caught yourself without your ever present gloom,
she lit up your life, more than you liked to think,
from all that she gave you, one quick little wink.
22 November, 1999
©KRJ
~*~
Tonight
Comes
In silvered slippers a spirit appears
a waft of breeze will blow her near
she is an apparition to only you
but in your reverie, what could she do?
She knows your heart, your soul, your mind
she is but a reflection of fantasies kind
she knows your pain, your hopes, it's true
she embodies the fire of golden red gone blue.
An apparition of common's sense
she may clutch your recompense
as to her you may yearn to aver
and in your fancy hold her near.
She will stroke your face and whisper
and all you will crave is just to kiss her
as her sweet siren's song is sung
and in that moment, the tonight becomes
a treasured instant, the import will pass
as you cling to memories past
in silvered slippers a spirit appears
and in your fancy, you hold her near.
©Karilea Rilling Jungel
4 August 2000
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