Poetry by Justin Megna
Between Lancaster and The Sky
The rays of dawn
lift songs to wake
the comely slopes and fields
And colors of
the evening kiss
homes nestled in the hills
Dim views that move
to hope and grief
for that which is my home
While I, with feet
obliged to earth,
the nomad’s path must roam
So sing, my heart,
and mourn, my soul,
that Heaven is so high
And glimpse its joy
on road that runs
‘tween Lancaster and sky
Blue
Peaceful as sunset
with slumber as deep
You too press your face
into warmth as you sleep
Bright like the moon
your reflection is true
My beautiful baby blue
All of your yawns
sound like her sighs
Sweet little blue
born of my sky
You portray all her colors
each morning anew
My beautiful baby blue
Your eyes like my sky,
so wide and so bright
You laugh like the sun
and shine with her light
Her beauty within you,
all through and through
My beautiful baby blue
Did she weave you with color,
spin you with light,
pour into you
her loveliest sights?
For I see you possess
her most beautiful hues
My beautiful baby blue
My heart adored you
yet higher it flies
to think how you painted
the sky in her eyes
Like dusk follows dawn
she is lovely as you
My beautiful baby blue
I Have Two Neighbors
I have two neighbors who
both want to live and thrive
They both stab each other
With knives with sharpened edge
“For if I let him live,
he might try to kill me”
Frustrations
Ready to roll, but
nowhere to go
Holding round pegs that
don’t fit square holes
Closed doorways and
“I don’t knows”
Such is the stock of
frustrations.
So much received,
unsatisfied still
Surveying the crests
of unclimbable hills
Knowing that good cannot
come just from will
The spirit is sapped by
frustrations
A pitcher that’s full with
no glass for to pour
Noble endeavors that
refuse to yield more
To look down the path
and see nothing before
To find some relief from
frustrations!
To frustrate frustrations
by true perseverance
To overcome hindrance
through faithful adherence
To confess that their
strength is only in appearance
For He holds in His hand our
frustrations
Lake Michigan
See the emerald sea
under the sapphire sky
with white-billowed crests
that chase their sky-borne brothers.
Hear the unceasing waves
that come ever on
with devoted reach
to caress the dulcet shore.
Feel the cool breeze
that glides in dance
to follow the lead
of the all-warming, yellow, beams.
Run the shifting steps
through the auburn sand
that remembers not those before;
now here, now erased forever.
Pennsylvania Spring
Cerulean sky smiles above
the ornamenting clouds
as yellow sun pours its
joyful rays uncontainable
Leaf and flower new-birthed
lift their heads green, purple, and pink
to drink in the light
Wind hums bass notes
to fly along the hills
and greet each dearly loved
Birdsong leads the duet
as harmony of color
cries unspoken song of praise
Speak A Little Louder
I hear it in the distance;
long winding echo,
broken before my ears.
Tremor, glimpse, whisper in the wind,
heard but not perceived.
Speak a little louder.
A firefly, beheld a moment,
but gone before it’s captured.
Overheard in dreaming,
waking could not come
quick enough to grasp.
Speak a little louder.
Goose chase, stumbling, pointless pursuit?
Or was it not my own imagination
that beckoned me?
Subtle sound in the cracks of my perceptions.
What did you say?
Speak a little louder.
Waiting For Me
Oh roll, ocean waves, and
carry me home
across the beautiful sea!
My heart longs to reach
that white moonlit beach
where someone always walks with me.
When this voyage ends
my life with her begins,
and forever together we’ll be.
My dark-haired young bonny is waiting for me.
Now corsairs come,
throw my mates to the deep,
but keep me alive as slave.
I lick salt from their deck
and lie on its cold wood,
waiting for rescue or escape.
She will weep when word comes,
but her love is great;
it will hope and not fade away.
My dark-haired young bonny will wait for me.
Three seasons have passed and
my love still knows not
that my veins yet pulse with life.
Her parents will tell her
not to hold on to dreams
of being a dead sailor’s wife.
Would she hope against hope
or desire the end
of hope and despair’s strife?
Will my dark-haired young bonny wait for me?
Oh say, ocean waves, would
you one favor give and
be more than a merciless sea?
Would you go where I can’t reach,
to that white moonlit beach
where someone always walked with me?
Does she stand there alone,
hoping that I’ll return
while I think of her in agony?
Is my dark-haired young bonny waiting for me?