Blue Ridge January Morn/A Tear In The Sea/Of Vain Poetry

Blue Ridge January Morn
Free Verse # 2

By: Philip Kent Church




Wintry morning in mountain woods,

The icy white tangles suspended in mist;

With crisp, crystalline branches drooping,

Over little snowy-ridged chevrons below.

Glaring, gray light diffused throughout,

A shadow-less white opaqued withal,

Glinting tiny rainbows sparkling on,

Twisting, snow-crowned stems fading,

Into the bright-foggy, blank nothing.

Muffled, cold-silence blanketed wood,

All nestled in a softly-stilled forest dawn.

There, frozen-quiet spirits rest beneath,

Game-trails ill-defined by snowy drifts.

Meandering into pale, oblivious shallows,

Where the quiet earth breathes to the sky.






A Tear In The Sea
An English Quintain

By: Philip Kent Church





When I think of all that’s real, my life seems so small.

Like dust trapped in Sun beams, the years float, then flee.

So where am I in the deal, where’s destiny’s call? 

When I think of my dreams; all that may, or never be.

All my life really seems, just like a tear in the sea.
















Of Vain Poetry
An Ottava Rima


By: Philip Kent Church




Poems bear heart’s love, joy or pain,  

Artful constructs of mind; 

The syntax of thoughtful gleaning.  

The impact not in kind.  

Is poetry inscribed in vain,  

Obscuring wisdom shined? 
In vanity there’s no meaning,  

The blind leading the blind.  

Express soul in a way that’s sane; 

Revelations to find.

As something lost, found while cleaning,  

Offer nuggets for gain. 

Planted seed within others lain,  

To grow, mind-milled to grind,  

And bend to some human leaning:  

Not empty words, which feign.