Poe et here

Have I? 

Have I done it? 

Have I done it all?

There was the copter

Flying over green fields

In the warm, quiet breeze. 

Visually, sensually fulfilling my  dreams. 

Watching the cows and goats 

Meandering about their grazing grasses, 

Placid lakes replenished by crystal streams. 

Travels through ancient French Villages

Speaking broken Lanqueduc 

To The artisans and shopkeepers

Drinking liquid fermented grape fragrance, 

Breads garnished with Camembert.

Perusing fields of violets 

Basking before an emptied monastery

Wooden pens taking shape on an old Lathe

Turns, curves, tenons, 

Develop beneath the iron lathe tool

Polished to satin sheen

Sanded and waxed with certainty

To its final becoming form,

To hold, caress, scribble 

Memorable, persistent sonnets

To that special, only loved one.

The year of Fencing

Fast and artful footing

Brandishing the slender silver sword

Deftly, adroitly, for that final flourish

Landing at its devilish destination,

Marking the ultimate winning stroke.

Daily read His holy Scriptures

Written for me for contemplation

Marked with heavenly meditation

In constant expectation

Of eternal life in His midst

Living in that glorious room

Built for me in His Wondrous kingdom.

I await Your calling 

To Eternity.

            Jon jacobs. 2015