My Pledge of Allegiance

 Art work by Marc Arroyo

A worm blindly spins the thread;
A fragile, meaningless thread.
Wove in unity with others,
Its true wealth not inherent.

A mast tethered swatch of silk
Dancing upon the gentle breeze.
Colored with bravery and sacrifice,
It becomes the standard of many.

Waiving an overture to the day
Exalted, the ensign flies on high.
Mankind’s clannish nature insure
Its dominion forever stands abstract.

For each combat-hardened gonfalon
Victorious upon the field of battle;
Blended with blood, another’s colors
Envelope the soil where it succumbs.

An oriflamme that burns for some
Deny the inclusion of a whole.
O’ to have a banner unite a species,
I pledge My allegiance to Humanity.

~Hugh A Tague

Org. Published in Sixteen Magazine

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Walk With Me

Hear the cock’s golden horn call from afar
as a solar torch touches the edge of the world
Igniting the night’s sky, turning dark clouds to white.

Your dawn’s horizon afire with another’s sunset
a pathway paved in ashes of fallen rainbows
a bridge seared onto the surface of the sea.

Follow me to where days have no end
and the night needs not hide in darkness
where the worrier, has no worry
and the warrior, no war.

Walk With Me…
Walk With Me.

by Hugh A Tague

 

Aquathritis

Old Wizard, Art by Alexandra Khitrova

Born a brother of the sea

My blood moves with tide

Great waves crash inside me

As life plays out upon its stage

Rain dancing with terra firma

Cleansed skyward reaching pillars

quenching their Sun-blanched thirst

Gray clouds thunder with light

The storm’s magic is no longer silent

Bones tremble as ocean’s ebon depths rise

Gale-fired swells transverse the shore

It Surrenders to its fury without fight

Calling to mind ‘All that is given’

With time nature’s eye closed

Tortuously the storm initiates rest

Suffocated soil may once again kiss the sky

Devouring with vigor the day’s light

Perched upon this mountain top

Time’s toll on my form is evident

Each droplet of future’s rain

Is a promise to me forecast in pain.

by Hugh A Tague

Forever Haunted

Forever Haunted
by, Hugh A Tague

The blood red harvest moon shone through
the sparse Autumn treetops, chasing away
a fast moving thunderstorm. The cold
October wind blew down the quiet lane
making leaves dance, like spirits on the run.

A porch light set a warm glow on a jug of cider
placed next to a plate of candied apples.
A scarecrow stuffed with hay, stood sentry on the stoop
as a jack-o-lantern flickered the darkness
away from the walk.

Backlit by the streetlight, little witches, ghosts and goblins
cast elongated shadows. The sound of children laughing
echoed on the breeze, as they meandered up the street.

A ferocious storm shook the town many years ago.
Under the cover of darkness, a fugitive
slipped away from his confines.
Nothing that is good will come this night.
His vision clouded by evil, the escapee sped down the hill
like a runaway train, obliterating three very young trick-or-treaters, then crashing into the light pole, his life too ended just as swiftly as his victim’s.

The ground began to rumble as a powerful wind roared past,
and a wicked silence fell upon the lane. The moon’s light
washed the darkness away from the house
with the festive porch, revealing that it has actually
been long abandoned. The children had lived in that house.
Their parents unable to survive just feet away
from the place they perished, simply left,
never to return again.

All for a freedom that lasted but a splinter of time.
The killer’s soul now condemned to exist only in shadows,
tortured and twisted by the guilt of my sins,
yes my sins, it was me,
it was I who extinguished their lights
it was I, that ended their lives.

Every year since, on all hallows eve
I must look upon what I have done. I must relive it
over and over again. Because I have deprived
so many of so much, my spirit remains
infinitely restless.

My regret and sentence eternal,
by the shadows of that dark and evil Halloween night
I shall continue to be…
Forever Haunted.

I wonder

Graphic Design by Diane Wilson

I Wonder

by Hugh A Tague

Pillowing clouds fill the night sky
back lit by the glow of the harvest moon
their edges bright as if on fire.

Like scales on a celestial serpent
the great sky dragon slowly drifts away
disappearing into the darkness.

I Have Neither

 

 

by Hugh A Tague

My lips dry and cracked
thirst for a droplet of moisture
water and shade are life
in this barren wasteland.

Peeling Away Winter’s Mask

 

Peeling Away Winter’s Mask

By Hugh A Tague

The pure polar blanket of alabaster
that once lay at the feet of sleeping trees
no longer reflects the faint day’s light
from barren skies of grey.
Vanquished from the surface,
transformed into liquid tinder,
fueling the inferno of rebirth overhead.

The lake’s opaque tempered shell
falls victim to longer days of Spring.
Solar rays peel back Winter’s mask
from the great mirror’s face,
once again allowing Mother Nature’s image
to rebound into the heavens.

I am but a single bard, standing in awe
as the muse of the cosmos whispers
gently in my ear; inspiring my voice,
empowering my pen, painting my soul
with respect; a respect of this place
here and now, this beautiful place,
adrift among the stars.

Photograph
by Hugh A Tague

Cyrano’s Insidious Deceit

Cyrano’s Insidious Deceit

by Hugh A Tague

His rapière merely an instrument,
one he need only play for a fool.
His swaggering panache,
few men, and less a warrior
could ever hope to own.

Wielding a pride-piercing foil of intellect.
Divesting his adversary of dignity,
shredding their vocabulary,
depriving them of all they once
thought themselves to be.

Lunging forward, Cyrano threads his foe,
releasing their soul’s bonds, leaving just
a mound of quivering flesh.
Short of a poetry-laced eulogy,
Cyrano’s passé concerto;
Le Rapière de Combat et fini.

Façade cloaked, Cyrano cast out his heart
painting a mirage with his pallet of passion.
Oblivious to the disfigured poet, the enchanted
Roxane sees only her paramour.
She sees only Christian.

Mortality concluded about the battlefield;
a cadet’s body, and the truth, forever lay cold.
Cyrano maintained le charade.
Roxane’s image inamorato intact,
she laments to unconsciousness.

15 years her confidant, Cyrano’s end in sight;
his final battle facing shadows.
The spectres, this time victorious.
Roxane found the truth as he drew his last breath;
Her heart now shattered twofold.

Insidious deceit, or honour among friends?
Lives self-sabotaged; Love and affection forever forfeit.
True love’s only antagonist: The Truth.

Freed By My Confession

Freed By My Confession
by Hugh A Tague

Each deep dark secret
haunts me, body and mind.
So complete is its grip
death is a welcome cure.

Dissident of humanity
riddled with man’s sin,
each binding me more
enhancing my madness.

My surroundings stark,
void of all expression.
My repressed thoughts
match my prison perfectly.

A façade of ignorance
runs rampant inside me.
Compressing the guilt
compounding my disability.

Rising to the surface
a bubbling brew of evil.
It’s pending release,
I can curtail no more.

Then it happens!
My most sacred digressions
articulated for others to digest,
degrading my personal mask.

As the pressure subsides,
pure space, or grace is created.
Light penetrates the bowels
of my once darkened soul.

From the light comes a warmth
filling a cold emptiness.
An inner peace I had not known
freedom I begrudged myself.

My bindings detached I am
carried on wings of forgiveness,
freed from my personal prison.
Freed By My Confession.

What to Say

What to Say

by Hugh A Tague

What to say
about one whose words
have touched so many,
words not just read
and spoke out loud,
but are felt
by all they fall upon.
Words that inspired so many
to read, to write
and to see.

What to say
about one who has
not just bared witness,
but engaged in life
with a limitless vigor
few will ever know,
but for a read of our Lady Maya.

What to say
about one’s whose sight
has touched minds of
school-aged children,
as well as the minds of
men and women;
who shoulder
the weight of the world.

Four score and six years;
five of those fell silent,
for none knew better
the power of words
than she.

Perhaps all the words
that could be spoke,
or wrote,
about this great poetess
have been just that.
For even a man of words
such as myself,
I can think of but two….
Thank You.