Walter S. T.

A poem dedicated to a departed friend and guide, Walter S. Taylor, artist, poet, and the founder, vineyardist, and vintner of Bully Hill Vineyards and Winery in Hammondsport, NY. As you will see here, (Bully Hill) his motto was and Bully Hill’s motto still is, that “A product is an extension of a person’s soul”.

Walter S. T.

We shall not let you go Walter S. T.,
not from this soil, nor from our hearts.
Nor shall our minds or resolve weaken,
for we have met you and heard your words:
Spoken, painted, written,
and are forever changed.

“They cannot cheat an honest man,” it is said.
They can try to silence, but they cannot hide.
They can dance with deception, cavort with conniving,
but never the worth of self can they sweep aside,
of one who stands as a light in the rain,
fighting wind surges and waters to remain,
glowing, even as a pilot flickering,
never out, ready as the match, energy sending,
out from the soul, spreading through magnificent rootstock,
upward though vine and leaf,
into the cups of kindness to be consumed,
by those who will carry on and keep the spirit,
alive forever on beloved Mother Earth,
the roots of honesty, integrity and self worth.

(C) Roger W. Bodo 1999, 2014 – All rights reserved

The Call

I know it is there, not by what it is, but by what it does.
I know it is there; its lilting voice calls to me at night.
It whispers softly in my waking ear. It remains
through my day in caressing breezes, always ready.
I do not see it yet I love it. It sets the world right.
It, like me, cannot be contained or restrained.
It comes and goes at will. Safe from sight.
Clouds reveal in swirls and eddies
That it is now as it always was,
Ready to lift me up.

And so I come to it, to play the captain’s role,
To launch upon it my desire, my craft, and me.
Once again yielding to the siren’s lyric soul, I sail,
A trusting voyager, upon an invisible sea.
(C) Roger w. Bodo 1998,2014

TheCall-1

Silver Ribbons

Silver ribbons ‘neath the clouds,
winding through the canyoned way,
snaking around the hindering blinds
of trees and scrub on narrow mounds.
Ridges of sand and clay
thrust defiantly upward,
but fall far short to sway
the silvered metal wings I sail.
And down there, in cutting creases,
fluttering sunned surfaces impale
verdant earthen tapestries,
to reach some far off destination
for those who trust and float upon
silver ribbons ‘neath the clouds.

© Roger Bodo 1998,2014 All rights reserved

Baby Thoughts

In the heart of every baby,
Lives a thought that cannot die.
Thought tells it where it’s going,
And shows the reasons why.
Thought calls in every gift,
And installs each, well defined,
With knowledge and the Spirit,
Fulfilling needs of every kind.

From conception to reception, into existential womb,
To remediation of the soul, opening exits from the tomb,
Thought, from the beginning, through spin of space and time,
Sprouts us seedlings unending, upward in heaven climb,
Showing that, once in being, all is not but strife,
Through this one thought born within;
Love is Life.

(c) 2014 by Roger w. Bodo – All rights reserved