Poetry by Richard Vallance and C. S. Snow
The Psalms
© Richard Vallance, 1998 &1999

Luke 2:46: "After three days they found him
in the temple... asking them questions."

Heavens! There's some aria about
this face! Consummate fire
crosses his brow. Lord, is there any
more eminent place he could retire?

"But, but, but..." you stammer.
"He is merely a child!" who speaks
in waves of wonders, signing Life
all over the temple's peaks.

Ah! But walls must tumble down!
But columns of marble explode
in their passionate desire
to see Jerusalem's gates unfold.

Is He merely a child, a Mother's little boy?
He is the Psalms Prophetics deploy.

When, Frail in Times of Sparse Relief
Iqaluit, Baffin Island, Canada, June 21st.

When, frail in times of sparse relief
the soul lies down and weighs its hours low
and drifts on ice in a Winter's leave of grief,
where frosts are as glum as Tundra's gauzy snow,
there's a rap in winds, as one just happens by,
who listens, and all ears, my Friend, as a wind's,
responds to a heart's half-starved Midnight's cry,
whose hands all shivers dawn on speechless shores -
Tonight's the season why too many days rescind
their Arctic sins, and the selfless sun casts itself on floes.
What hour's upon us now if the sunrise comes & thrills
for 23 hours over your village's bay, and cormorants' rills?
Yes, listen as where? - where's the pall as last mournings fall.
Then, watch to the west, and hear! It's our spare Artic's call.

Still Breathes
© 1970, 2001 Richard Vallance
For Douglas Hueller (Schroeder)

Still breathes what's? who's this? - a spinner's
spirit shines upon the world? Or it's us as if
it's breaths & still where what's rarest breezes
swirl in on in from where, summervales, our hearts
must spell it out! Look! Who opens wide
what's rain's casements to our eyes, unsnaps
shutters, ours, once so flatly latched, and as if
it, it's clarions, ruffles us up, and it airs
airs on sheers where flecks, our lightning's woes
all dapples, wings on flairs, take
what's flight, where fair Monarchs, whose images
in films, flit from lilies in what's this? Valleys!
- and with all of this, leaves our children smiles
all in a morning's mourning swept-off leaves!

A B C D E         
An infantile's pastiche
© Richard Vallance
In Memoriam my Uncle Howard [1906-2001]
                * * *                 
If her lullaby
has lulled her child who's slept deep       
what's death's cause why weep?

                * * *        	
Why see no reason
Why not to have wept for years      
on a child's veils tears?

                * * *        	
A cappella a
chants in the chapelle ping on          
columns' calicos.

                * * *        		 


Those who'd lost regrets
for infants past in graves found       
their tears own as grave.		

                * * *        		 


Or had we noticed    
them pass away scarce with sounds
on these wary grounds? 

© C.S. Snow

All away,
To the place
Where gentle breezes blow
Behind us
To fill our sails.

All away,
To the place
Where stars reflect our light
To guide us
To the place where we were born.

All away,
To the calling
Of The Riverdance
That brings us all
Together in song.

All away,
To the place
Where we all understand
The Language
That floats in the air.

Let me hear you say...
"Hands across the water!"
When I hear you say...
"We are brothers and sisters
In The Stars."

Let me hear you say...
"Hands across the Oceans!"
When I hear you say...
"All are one!"

I wanna hear you say...
"Hands across the water!"
I wanna hear you say...
"We will be together
In this place!"

I hear you say...
"Hands across the Seas!"
I hear you say...
"I wanna be there!"

All Away....

"Love Song; 2am
© C.S. Snow 29 April, 2001

Like bubbles tickling my skin,
a notion welling up inside.
The clever turn of a phrase;
a lovely place I like to hide.

The urge to feel out loud, now.
With words just tripping off my tongue.
I wish to take you there, dear
within my heart where you belong.

Passion bleeding through my pen
to work my way inside your skin.

It's not enough, the words are pale,
so much, it seems so trite and stale.

Have I lost my touch?

Shall I compare thee to a winter moon?
Or the rare cactus flower that dies in June?

There I go again, using stock rhymes.
It seems such a crime!

Oh well,
Here's another one for the round file!

Crumpled little bits of my heart,
overflowing now.

Must empty the bin soon.

How I wish you'd call...

Christ, this pen's out of ink!

© C.S. Snow

You've come undone.
You hit the streets tonight
looking for something
fresh and new
to provide answers
to questions that burn...

That burn into your life once more.

Do you see,
or can you feel the chains
that bind you to one moment
in your life
that you just can't let go of?

Fly away, my darling.
Though, I can see that were it not for that
one lame wing,
that you would be miles
from here by now.

And, though I give you all I can give.
And, you know that strength can be
so hard to find,
The well can never, ever run dry.

And, as we watch the years fly by
on velvet wings,
we know that time is all we've got
that we must take care of.

We come undone,
we hit the streets tonight
looking for something
fresh and new...
that we can hold on to...

Lastly, a poem by both Richard and Scotty:
Earth Change
© C.S. Snow and Richard Vallance

This dawn's heaven light
Breaks upon me once anew
As a dream restored.

What fire begins there,
To quench the acrid sea's thirst
For a wind-swept flame?

Land billows seaward
In search of tectonic mates
Long rent asunder.

Primordial slates
Churn with prowess in their quest
For said unity.

All this, hold me fast
Where I stand, in awe, trembling.
With mercy, I pray.

Oh, Great Pangea,
Bring me safely to thy fold.
Reveal the new earth.

For, as we once were
Shall we ever again be
Until one we are.

Or, grind my flesh fine
To a grain of polished sand
That, within, I live.

Mighty Atlantis
Heaven beckons thee outward,
Up to where stars meet.

Angels light there still
To watch as oceans give sway
Yielding into one.

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