It…

It plays upon the glowing, sunset boughs,
When shadows have enveloped all below,
And distant, other-worldly thoughts arouse
A passion in the poet’s soul to go
Beyond the earth, beyond the dark’ning sky,
Where only unembodied spirits fly.

It beckons coyly in that certain look
The woodland flower wears in the morning light,
Half-hidden in the shadows, by a brook
Which murmurs gently, as if to invite
The mind in endless beauties to immerse,
Unfolding in its little universe.

It guides by unseen force the flock of birds
That swirls and soars upon the twilight air,
And all that lives and breathes, as if by words
Unspoken, though however unaware,
Yet dance as its mysterious music sways
And with our noblest thoughts of freedom, plays.

And then, it sometimes visits in a form
That haunts like some gigantic destiny;
The dark and threatening beauty of a storm
Whose coming flash of jagged light we see,
Yet feel, as all around the thunder rolls,
A primal freedom stirring in our souls.

But most, I see it in another’s eyes,
That sparkle when a thought is born within,
Or fill with tears when holy passions rise
That speak of what could be, or could have been;
And I am in the presence of a force
That is all other earthly Beauty’s source.

 

The Snowflake

The brooding mists of my thoughts haunt the morn,
And heavily upon the meadows lie,
Until, on faintly whispering winds, they’re born
Aloft, into the brightening morning sky,
And there, as if by magic, high above
The dreaming earth, dance with the rays of sun,
And are transformed by breath of Heaven’s love
To infinitely lovely forms, each one
A miracle that never was before!
And like angels rejoicing in new birth,
In dazzling beauty for a moment soar
Above the clouds, then gently fall to earth;
They’re mine no more than is the morning dew,
And so I leave them on the page for you.

 

Daniel Leach is a poet living in Houston, Texas. He has spent much of his life fighting for the ideals of classical culture and and poetry. His poems have been published on the 21st century classical poetry website www.thechainedmuse.com. More of his writings can be found here.


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9 Responses

  1. James Sale

    Beautiful poems, both of them. I love the craft that has gone into these, and I love the thematic preoccupations that drive the work: there is an intense passion here for what is beautiful and your poetry is, I feel, inspired by Apollo. Recently I have had an article published on the Epoch Times about Apollo and the writing of poetry, and perhaps it would be appropriate to direct you to it here: https://www.theepochtimes.com/apollo-and-the-making-of-poetry_2776708.html

    Reply
  2. Joseph S. Salemi

    Both poems are very finely executed.

    One suggestion for “The Snowflake”: in line 3, I believe the last word should be spelled “borne,” not “born,” since you are using the verb /to bear/ in the sense that means “to carry.” The form “born” is only used in reference to the birth process (“He was born on July 5th”).

    Reply
  3. Monty

    I’m practically drooling at the sheer quality of the timeless ‘It’, Dan. This is poetry in its purest form.. a deeply-felt sentiment: animated with an effortlessly-rich use of language: perfectly clear and unambiguous diction: and with every required discipline impeccably undertaken.

    What’s more, it contains a deep and meaningful subject-matter: meaningful in the sense that many writers can feel/have felt the ‘something’ to which the poem refers (which, indeed, endows some with the very compulsion to write) . . and deep because that ‘something’ will always remain deliciously enigmatic; not seen.. not tangible.. just ‘there’.

    I feel (hypothetically) that if I encountered this poem in an anthology containing the work of renowned poets . . it’d look entirely appropriate.

    I sincerely hope that this poem is somehow able to achieve a far wider audience, and I implore you (unless you already have) to send it to as many avenues as possible within the poetry-world (‘It’ should see the world . and the world should see ‘It’); and if no one’s interested, then ‘proper’ poetry really is in trouble.

    I share the “envy” of the above commenter . .

    Reply
    • Monty

      It’s just occurred to me . . . that because of my utter lavishment over ‘It’, you could be excused for assuming that I was indifferent to ‘Snowflake’. Not the case! No one appreciative of real poetry could be indifferent to ‘Snowflake’; as well as all its other qualities, it’s so grammatically-disciplined that it can get away with only one full-stop throughout. And as for the profound line: “. . each one a miracle that never was before” – well, that’s as good as it gets. This is another high-class poem, Dan: but ‘It’ . . .

      Reply
  4. Davey

    Dear Daniel Leach,

    Sound the trumpets! Bravo!

    I have never commented on a website before, I don’t know if I ever will again, but never have I been so moved and so taken away by the glowing sound and triumphant belief that lives in your language and is consistent throughout all of your poetry.

    You have exceptional talent that has clearly been refined and sharpened to further drive in the tap into the tree of life so that the grand and invisible glory of this dear venture can drip and ping into your pen. Keep bringing us rainbows!

    Please, please keep writing as if the grace of dawn, Beauty and snowflakes depend on it. Because they do!

    I humbly offer my gratitude and high praise,

    Davey

    Reply

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