Poetry from the heart & pen of Benn K. Leavenworth, my oldest brother – whom I love.

This one is, I believe, untitled – but it was w841b6c418912b4eff494fea6df5a7d81ba4ec9aa953088e69707e96917dba16eritten at the time of our father’s exit from Earth to Heaven.  Our first parental loss, and his widow, all siblings, in-laws, and grands were alive and impacted by this event – together – in April 1973.  Benn wrote this; I call it simply

Benn’s poem about Dad

that which gave me life
lies before me, lifeless.
the Voice – the Golden Tenor –
reposes – forever silent.
but is it.
perhaps in that Mysterious Realm
a new voice is heard
to challenge the beauty of
celestial choirs.
perhaps
he who laughed so easily,
who loved life and
lived it with such gusto, and
who was at one equally with
peasants or kings
this very moment
has audience with
the King of Kings.
Earth is poorer now,
yet richer
for having known him.
****

Thank you, Benn, for capturing this breadth of reality in so few words, so beautifully.

****

Here’s another beauty of Benn’s

RESURRECTION  (from Primal Journeys Anthology)

O Muse,
Where is gone the glory
Of half forgotten dreams?
I stand at twilight
In open meadow
As fades the afterglow
And deepens
The dark of night;
And wonder
As voices
Long since silent
Call out to me.
Mid Meadow’s gloom
A strange stillness
Settles amid the breeze’s surcease,
And faces loving, tender,
Smile at me again
Across the years.
And thru the silence
Again I hear
Pealing forth the chorus
Of harmonies that died a-borning.
Mystic sighs
Rise within me
As I ponder
Snippets of golden treasures
Of moments long past
And others
That never were.
I survey
A darkling earth,
Silhouetting the horizon
And an ever purpling sky,
As hosts of poems,
Of songs,
Of tales,
Of symphonies,
Of paintings,
Lie formless
Yet struggling to surface.
What mean these?
Might they be
Anthems from heaven?
Might they represent
The Bridge
‘Twist earth
And the Celestial?
Or might they be
The Promethean spark
Of Divine fire
Long since smoldering
As embers
But bequeathed
To mortals such as I
Since before The Fall?
A strange beauty
Pervades the pastoral scene before me
As fades fast the last
Flickering light of day.
One of millions
Since Time began.
I feel that I
Could reach out and clasp
Unseen hands
That would gently
Reach out to mine.
O Muse,
Where is gone the glory
Of half forgotten dreams?
This I have asked before
As I stood
Beside an ivy-covered wall
Bathed in the pale light
Of the sun
Of a late autumn afternoon
As I contemplated withered leaves
Floating on waters
Of a nearby goldfish pond.
This I have asked before
As I stood ankle deep
In grey, rotting snow
Of late winter
Looking out across a landscape
Of naked trees
Shrouded in mist.
And as I breathed
Clear air, no longer frigid and icy,
But balmy –
Presaging spring.
Perhaps not
Until the Day Dawn
Following the
Final Sunset
Will I know.

 

 

 

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