Poems by Jonathan Allen
The Homecoming
I hear an ancient inner beckon,
A reckoning with Destiny and Time;
Distant desires awaken a sacred song inside me
Shaking off the sheath of forlorn longing,
Shattering the battered shell of my calloused cocoon.
Yet the moon reflects the echoes of my treasured promise,
Measured innings that mark the cycles of my exile;
And in the whisper of the autumn nights I hear the call-
Spiced by tender smells of my heart's betrothal.
With broken wings I heed the pleading summons
Bolding daring to brave the frightful flight ahead;
And while the Wind suspends my nascent spirit,
I glide the currents of the stream with seamless soaring.
With mustard faith I trust unerringly the hallowed route
Etched indelibly on the sacred annals of my paneled heart;
And like a homing pigeon destined with Patriot precision,
My spirit "locks in" on my Beulah Land where I belong,
The tents of my inheritance-
My "gift of God," my unseen refuge-my only home.
August 17, 2002
Olathe, Colorado
The Elixir of Love
In a part of the city that is proper and pretty
Stands a church with a preening sheen
And with paint so white it reflects the light
Like a diamond, clear and clean.
But inside its walls are cold, iron stalls
Where its prisoners drink their fill
And the spirits flow 'till the draft gets low
In the Tavern of Fear on the hill.
Now the patrons there are both foul and fair
Yet they all wear a common scorn
From the spirits they swallow and the haunts that follow
'Tis that place where I was born.
The years passed with pain as we struggled in vain
To break the cold chains of our fears
But our wills were no use in stopping the abuse
We were powerless slaves in arrears.
I petitioned one night in a drunk chill of fright
I pled to the dear God above
For a much stronger ale that could plaster me pale:
A fix of the Elixir of Love.
When the lights dimmed low I staggered real slow
Out to the rape-ridden road
'Twas a worn rugged path with a sworn rocky wrath
That led to my dreadful abode.
Well a strange gust that night thrust me off to the right
And I snagged in some thorns near the trail
I soon felt the pain, oh the blood made a stain
It stabbed like a driven nail.
When I wrestled myself free there was nestled over me
The most sensitive, sensuous Rose
All my shame was undressed with its eyes it caressed
From my hair to the tips of my toes.
So my heart took the dare and stood stark naked there
Seized by its tender embrace
But I soon lost my stance to the Rose's advance
And succumbed to the love on its face.
Well I couldn't dismiss the allure of a kiss
So I signaled acceptance to start
As its smile extended a sweet nectar descended
Pouring pure love from its heart.
The love liquor stung yet was smooth on my tongue
Soothing and healing its way
A peace soon occurred then a sweet passion stirred
As the nectar my fears did allay.
Well the drink did the trick and then started to kick
Like a mule in a bar room brawl
With Fear bucked aside and with Love like a bride
I was free without fear at all.
Now it's funny to think that I found such strong drink
That was mixed in the heavens above
Though I'm no more afflicted I'm now newly addicted
From a fix of the Elixir of Love.
Olathe, CO
July 26, 2002
Wildfire Desire
Spirited passions imprison my intellect
Arresting my fear-driven soul
Igniting new wildfires of sovereign desires
Burning gracefully out of control
Prairies of "common sense" raze in the blaze
Scorched by its hold wrath
Old ways of thinking bow reluctantly, shrinking
In the wake of its destined path
Charred, my reasoning respectfully resigns
Acquiesced by the passionate fire
With human ways slain on the purified terrain
Rest I, inflamed with holy desire.
July 13, 1999
Boston, Massachusetts
Spirit Wind
The timeless Wind exhales its breath
Upon the hardy mountain grass
As compliant pines extend their bow
The formless Wind soon makes its pass.
Even so the Spirit scours the land
On hardened souls its Breath to press
Creation's Force unleashed in gusts
To shake, uproot, destroy and bless.
September 27, 1997
On Blue Mountain ridge overlooking Walla Walla
More Poems
The Credibility of Time
"Credible, credible!" cried the clock
As the hours ticked like chimes,
If I'm not mistaken, every second taken
Is lost to the plots of time.
Don't be preempted by Time's cruel plot,
Discontent in disarray.
Rather, be credible, enjoy what you've got,
Or Time will tick it away.
Joel Allen (Age 14, Middle Son of Jonathan Allen)