Flewelling - As Lace Along the Wood

AuthorHouse LLC 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.authorhouse.com Phone: 1-800-839-8640 2014 William Flewelling . All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Published by AuthorHouse 09/29/2014 ISBN: 978-1-4969-4338-5 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4969-4337-8 (e) Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,
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The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. Contents Also By This Author Poetry Time Grown Lively From My Corner Seat Enticing My Delight The Arthur Poems From Recurrent Yesterdays In Silhouette To Silent Disappearance Teasing The Soul Allowing The Heart To Contemplate Devotional Some Reflective Prayers Reflective Prayers: A Second Collection Directions Of A Pastoral Lifetime Part IV: Studies all published by AuthorHouse.com Recently, a friendly acquaintance commented that she had read my first collection, Time Grown Lively , twice, needing the second reading to ease more into what she termed as the depths of the poems. I shared that with my friend Guy Kettelhack and found his response as Im so glad for your sensitive and insightful reader. I add that to another friend, from Church, with whom I share occasional poems, many of those of a patriotic nature multiple reflections on Memorial Day, D-Day, Independence Day, Veterans Day, 7 December 1941 and the like which he tells me he has on his desk at work, rereads them on occasion and admires the thought that is involved in them. All of these are friends for more and more profound reasons than that they seem to appreciate bits of my poetry! I have, since the early years of my dabbling in poetry, found that the writing of the poems helps me see what is happening around me, to gather some sort of insight into the nuance of the events and the people and the world I encounter. It is that perhaps subtle insight that, I think, my friends are noticing in the poems, and that they find inviting to their own thought and developing nuanced-attention.

When I first started my time on Desert Moon Review , an on-line poetry workshop, in April 2004, my first poem was Aprils Turn (which subsequently appeared in Time Grown Lively ). After a series of comments by people who had never seen my work before, Les I forget his last name, Im sorry to say replied in the negative. I was not about tying tongues but controlling the pace of the reading, slowing the reader down in order to live a while with the poem. Les found that a favorable trait, I believe in the same way my recent friendly acquaintance suggests that she is slowed down for the reading, invited back again to the reading in order to find something of the nuance that attracted the lines and which now the lines are seeking to attract in her reading. I hope you also find that these poems slow you down so that you are able to savor not only the poems but life itself. I find that a worthwhile project in my life and would wish it for you.

William Flewelling The little golden rings append the ears. They move as one with those unwavering ears. This constancy refuses play, endorses fair continuance in form. I watch the tightness there in rings, in hair, in presence so composed. This lean into improbability returns unmoved as little rings of gold that pose as if to dangle without the dangle in repair. WCF 17 June 2011 Shes learned her feet can run, a tack on time she wills to exercise at chance.

A hand goes after her along the aisle and disappoints the freedom she had almost found. Agreeing at the last, the girl holds up her hand to grasp a finger and toddle off the safer way as if to lead parental care. WCF 1 September 2013 Set snugly near, the girls hair hangs so softly close, her mothers hand begins to stroke. Her fingers play with locks and strands; her eyes watch generously dear and dreamy. All the while the girl sits quietly; contentment seems her style. The motions of the crowd, attentive ears and words that linger in the air provide the context here for mothers gentle sweep of fingers through the hair.

WCF 19 June 2011 an antique preacher reminisces All fears aside, we find the opportunity arrives to rise, to gaze upon the faces raised, to answer affirmation of Father, Son and Spirit, to get to rouse the word inherent in the life we must proclaim. At once, old duties tremble for they mark the thriving zest pressed privilege asserts with swelling thrust. It is this sacred tryst in life to bare the flagrant coals of faith to Spirits breath for all of these who wait. WCF 20 April 2014 She folds her arms across her waist, a posture known as usual. Contained thus, she sits formally contented, free and settled. Life around her she observes; she lets occasion brush her cheek.

Her arms remain in taut control except some movement cause adjustment should a smile invade her compact norm. WCF 1 September 2013 that I may overwhelm/ myself in poesy! John Keats Suggestions amplify, transpose, surrender toward a metaphoric mapping onto the inscape space of infinite allure. The simple spark a face, a wing, a glance, a smile, a twist and turn, the flash illumining a soul, the chance encounter with delight begins the plunge in language, image, spun remission of the form into reform, the bright collusion of desire and rhythm, sound and sense refracted by the slice of intimate affection to rouse itself in lines and metaphors, elapse of assonance and rhyme, alliterations rat a-tat of soft shoe flair into an elegance of calibrated dare. WCF 23 April 2014 Unhappy at constraints as hands insist to hold her wrist, the young girls starts to spin, her head laid back that hair trail down behind while throat lie open, white and delicate. Her shoulders are back; the free hand lays in balance as she plays the dancer, seer of all unseen desires that drape the ceiling high above. Some other means is needed, her father knows, and he attempts diversion gently yet firmly to attract this fluid flight in dance and fantasy she weaves.

WCF 19 June 2011 Commemorations come from faces never seen and names anonymous to memory. The red pen ballpoint clearly shown inscribes official names because the computer spewed the date and name, gave out an address label, all to ladle memory machinery provides from digitized results of nearly forty years ago. Scant traces show in corridors and once occasioned seminar assembly rooms. Im sure the presence has become a thoroughgoing absence and these anonymous commemorations stay remote, as lost in dust and distant shrugs-aside. WCF 3 September 2013 As I walk back the aisle from altar rail, I note the toddler lean and sway, reach arms and hands away from her mothers sturdy hold. I smile because of much convolving here the girl in motion pointedly.

Her mother sees the smile of readiness delight and turns the tense attention into a softer guise, the sort that melts the eyes as a wide grin teases her mouth. WCF 19 June 2011 The painted toe nails gleam from open toed the shoes that demand balance while she squats to tell her tale of numbers on the page, interpreting the rage as questions part the sure assay and qualify assent. The brightly colored, and actively engaged ten digits, all her toes, yield punctuation where she implicates design that follows down the line. WCF 6 September 2013 Upon her knees at tractor side, the bonnet raised to let her gaze into the engine while he who came leans cross the way with hands in place to minister the engines toll: thus I observe. I quickly pass and note her way, intrigued to see his magic play while kneeling where the tractor stays perplexingly for her apt gaze. WCF 21 June 2011 The giggle-flash lets rattle joy and taunting pleasure around the jambs, through rooms of voices ignoring all that is around the giggle bursts in radiance, a radical allure to what must be a flash of smile, a light of face and eyes, and lively zest.