The Gift

Into my life, a light has fallen;
Into my heart, a silken leaf.
The former, a sign that love has callen;
The latter, the mark of that pleasing thief.

I am a ship, that has ridden the ocean;
I am a bark, that has weathered the storm.
She is the wind and the sea's gentle motion;
She is the port, which my sail can call home.

The leaf is the land, which always will beckon.
The light is the beacon, which marks out the way.
I am the victim, whose heart has been stolen.
I am the lover, who gave it away.

Written the Spring of 1962 by James R. Hoye

The Visit

First step.....
A gate,
Iron cold;
Hinges grating,
Long grown old.....
Green beyond,
The land unfolds.
			
There lies
A walk,
Cobblestone;
Gnarled twigs,
Weathered stone.
The land pastoral;
I'm alone.

The grass 
About me
Softly sighs.
The thrush and sparrow
Flit and fly.
I pause a moment
Where she lies.

I watch the flowers grow.  

Written in the Fall of 1964 by James R. Hoye

Just Compensation

A cord, too slight, is love to last,
A strand, too shear, to hold.....
But, show me else can fill a night,
Or change a moon to gold.

A wisp, so tenuous, is a dream,
It can not fill the air.....
But, show me real, as fair as seem,
I'll build my castle there.

No star would ever glow as bright,
If love did not have eyes;
No soul would ever take to flight,
If dreams were not as wise.....

So, let me have my taste of love,
And, spare my dreams, as well.
'Though I may never move the world,
Still, I'll have much to tell. 

Written the Spring of 1968 by James R. Hoye

Harbor

'Round the cape,
Like the flutter or gulls,
Come the flapping sails
Before the wind.....

Two hands drop each anchor,
Two, each sail,
Four, to pull
The shore-sent dinghies in;

Then, unloading,
Disembarking;
Tomorrow.....
An outbound wind.

Written in 1964 by James R. Hoye

Driftwood

Thatch and straw ----
A nest against the storm,
No more ----

To either side
The sands stretch far away.
Behind - the rocks,
Before - the sea.
Gold the sun plays.

The waters stray 
Across the silken shore
Before me.

My traces
Are indented lines
Of footsteps watered,
Many times,
(Some washed away),
And driftwood,
Fetched and stacked
To sun-dry,
Burn as firewood,
And fall to ash
Blown from the flame.

The sky is my pavilion,
Stone blue 
Against the green of sea.
I see the gull,
The pelican,
The tern,
Born,
Alive and dying
Through the days.

I have strayed from the homes of mankind
And grown my claws.

I have sheltered my head
And fed my maw with nature's fancies,
Dead and satisfying 
As the red flesh from the bones.
		
My comb has smoothed
My hair,
The sands,
The grand and passionate sea,
And set their forms
self to myself					
Crying the wind within the storm,
The gull cry
Silent upon the moon-cold night,

Crying my heart
in the rolling waves,
Forever warm.

Written the Fall of 1968 by James R. Hoye

The Red White Rose

I gave my love a white rose,
And, with it, gave my heart.
She gave me back a red rose,
And said, we two must part.
					
Oh, I shall raise a garden,
Filled with sheer delight,
That holds, within its center,
A rose, both red and white.

And its thorns will prick my body,
As its petals prick my soul.....
And, I shall ever dwell there,
'Til my torn heart grows whole.

Written in 1982 by James R. Hoye