beauty

Late Have I Loved You

Gill Washington Poems, St. Augustine , , 0 Comment

Late have I loved You
O beauty every ancient, ever new!
Late have I loved You
And behold,
You were within; and I without,
and without I sought You.
And deformed I ran after these forms
of beauty You have made.
You were with me
And I was not with You.
Those things held me back from You,
things whose only being
was to be in You.
You called; You cried;
and You broke through my deafness.
You flashed; You shone;
and you chased away my blindness.
You became fragrant;
and I inhaled and sighed for You.
I tasted
and now hunger and thirst
for You.
You touched me;
and I burned for Your embrace.

~St. Augustine

Eddy

Gill Washington Hydeh Aubon, Poems , , 0 Comment

It was pure poetry
when you were
a lone traveler
in your canoe and
suddenly the sky
darkened by a flock
of migrating birds.
All you could hear was
the flapping of their wings
and their wild calls.
For a brief time there was
no time.
You put your hands around
your shoulders and looked
the other way where
a lone bird was flying
in the opposite direction
determined, noble and
uncertain.
You saw the bird among
the crowd of many.
“That was my unwritten poem”,
you said.
“Where everything is
so urgent to survive,
I go where the unknown may
or may not welcome me.
I go embracing pain
to be embraced by
beauty”.

Hydeh Aubon (1/27/09)

For Auta

Gill Washington Hydeh Aubon, Poems , , 0 Comment

Before sunrise Auta put
her moccasins on
wore her silver necklace
packed a small bag and
got on her black horse, Thunder.
Thunder, the carrier of dreams
Thunder, always galloping
to no where.
No where predestined, known, or
determined.
Where do you ride to Auta?
Is it the morning dew or
your tears that make
your beautiful eyes misty
and filled with unwritten poems?
When are you stopping Auta?
Where?
She ties Thunder to
an apple tree and
walks toward the lake.
Sitting on a rock she
opens her bag:
a piece of bread
a bottle of fresh water
dried flowers
a book of poems
and a mirror.
A sip of water,
a piece of bread and
the dry flowers that go
with the current of the lake making
magical patterns.
The old book of poetry opens
and Auta reads,
“There is no destiny,
make peace with that and
rest in love.
You are never late nor behind
so, just be and
rest in love.”
Auta looks in the mirror
Her silver necklace says,
your soul is a warrior and
love is your shield.
She gasps as she realizes
her own strength, and her own beauty.
The sun has risen and
Auta is not late
for anything.

Hydeh Aubon (9/1/06)