Archive of original poems by Jared George.
Each poem also appears separately on this site in its own post, which contains information about other places a given poem has been published, where applicable.
Please click a poem’s title to be taken to its individual post.
Come now to the wild welcome,
the day’s light touch,
the simmering song.
Set right the path
for trailing hours
and on, and on, and on.
Green rolls in, fresh earthen tide
births bright secrets
in its folds.
The sun begins to kiss more boldly,
our limbs more noble
in our strolls.
Open roads frame blooming tones
and we, the crowd to cheer
the aspect.
This starts what may, the timeless
sway, facing neither past
nor prospect.
The merry way
all down the lane
thanksgiving for each reed stem,
each blade of grass and flower full,
untroubled smiles to greet them.
We take our place amongst the play
teased by the wing’d mates
we witness,
call bounty up, the teeming cup,
each glance meets our ripe mistress.
We stride inside the daytime star,
all yellow, blue, at noon;
electric flows
from our sphere’s core,
within the cosmic tune.
All bridged, we bridge,
we ground the stars,
watch daylight pleasures brought to bear
and knowing wholly,
seeing solely, claiming
we are there.
Drumming
wheels of time unravel
lengthening
the chapters woven.
In the wood
thoughts peer through;
wisps of green,
our instincts wrapping
in a perfume now seducing
us into our next condition,
yielding to magnetic tethers
pulling toward the next edge.
Always searching
but home in searching–
pulsing, turning,
dancing, waiting.
Beat the rhythms,
each phrase an age
cloaked in capsules,
tears and droplets,
blood in death and new creation.
Wise ones looking like us,
maybe over on that mountain,
maybe here but ‘tween our blinking–
some bearded, hardened, retching, reaching,
some glowing, giving, nurture-making.
I prayed not for a thing
but to be, and ring
my call to sound
through each new something;
proceeding from me,
my time, earthly–
steely, steady,
blast through being.
Flux and twinkle
off and on,
from eye’s eye
yet a constant march remaining,
within, above,
the changing–
rooting, breathing,
striving, living.
Ivory lace
and life-bent trees
and garden sighs.
Just we two, alone,
all one.
A sun and
a moon.
Storied face,
though young.
And kisses placed
and fingers run.
Our inner space.
Soon.
The runes of light and life,
here beyond
where the mind flies hither and yon,
see the knowledge bound in land’s trails.
Planets above wave to our shores,
everything a slowly creeping composition.
Thank you to the trust of vectors,
your lines connecting shrines
in certain nodes of earth’s unknown curves.
I sidle up
to the welcome embrace of these places
while wearing sheer masks–
whose impressions I can see,
who invite us more to be.
Truest of True
prop up my every fiber
take hold of me
in the Boreal wind.
I ride infinite space
in dignified particulars.
Perfect squares all laid together
prism of a suggested gesture
that in our sleep we feign as secret,
lulling me down
from this way to that.
Shapely shards of purest light,
contained within a boundary tight
backdropped to the velvet black
something calls
from this way to that.
Weaving a tune, all contours, smooth,
shapes cascading justly.
I hear the sirens’ call in reverse,
sussing me thusly
from this way to that.
A liquid paisley oozes over
my orientation
until I’m not located
in any equation.
Drawing me forth
from this way to that.
Glowing, golden fields
a journey’s remembrance
comes in flashes
as I lay here.
Radiant angel,
strike me gently
inform me with the secret halo
around my heart.
A slow glorious fall down the line,
lured into corners of life
not breached in daylight.
Darkness blooms, then a surge,
then a coy damsel.
I await sweet mysteries.
The swirl of the world,
the dance of the game,
on the tips of our tongues
the spells that will change
the cage ‘round our minds
and the drain on our hearts
our histories now changed,
our parts we’ve forgot.
To come through this turn
to rise from this fall
must we draw once again
from the source of it all.
Trails of love, laid out for us to follow,
fluid in this layover of the stars.
Travel back with me to the icy beginnings;
we’ll watch the dust clouds form,
mother’s milk for the gods.
Bursting pennants
standing guard
against the glad inner courtyard,
revel in their newborn form.
A hazy day, and yet
still light.
A gathering, all life.
The herald sounds,
rings opulent
in way of supple melodies.
The center holds,
and we bow down,
and all is well,
I don my crown–
and yet, each here
knows fancy’s flight.
I do, as well,
and in my might,
a servant
of the one and all;
I am the biggest
and most small.
Our Britannic Majesty’s Request
Sacred, ancient Albion
lend your ears to me.
Let whispers of the reed stems
bleed into fields around me.
For language, blood, and spirit
draw a bow string
and I feel the pull;
there something shared.
Possess me of your story’s wisdom,
a wrestle with love and fleeting calculation.
There’s a door somewhere in your grassy web
and that’s why the heart and why the head
had their tether split in you.
Ah, but how to mend anew?
Flying the skies with the winged gods of eagle rock
we find ourselves truly in the Core.
Roman temples and Alpine forests portal us to that center,
particular means for our perfected shapes.
The forest court echoes of the messengers,
the valleys of mystery we traverse
and reveal the undercurrent,
awakened.
Living through the grand proscenium of time
the hills march with us,
a tradition that springs eternal:
our communion with the land.
The inner splendor unravels outward,
the once-coiled spirit in my plexus
now rays of light in our daily deeds.
Beauty shows the king of each land
suspended in the golden space of life,
attendants to the infinite moment.
The queens breathe their harmony
through everything they pass
to our mutual delight.
Wolf of many hours
your time it moans away,
birth iridescent radiance,
take the younglings
that once strayed.
Bathe them strong
in forest streams.
Raise them, milk them
for the sake.
Keep the spindle turning
though it’s blood that slakes.
Belief,
now as ecstasy mistaken,
traded in that ancient market–
echoes across the Janiculum of Rome;
chants dressing a temple;
cries of duty sworn at the burial mounds.
Each of us cut by fathers
and coaxed by mothers
into our cast for the world.
Can it be we’re now overrun
in this undertow,
like tokens lacking even the Hand?
Decrees uttered by overlords,
in solitude, too, they search for the first–
first thought, first flicker, first flinch–
that gives rise to that warmth in their breast.
Without the world pole,
lacking the unmoving North Star
all truly is vanity.
That desert lament
knew what we’d deserted.
Falling now slowly,
pulled to that far shore,
when light ever lowers
rises tales told of yore.
Awake not to rote tasks
but to still clearer dreams,
golden colors now cloak us
as the sun’s warmth it wanes.
Slip further coddled
into earth’s last caress
as the mind’s gate too drops,
spirits seek their egress.
Hosts hold court
obscured to mortal men
as morseled moments,
shards of potential,
now spin.
Grows colder and darker,
this kingdom complete,
its last transformation
barren and clean.
Our land lies stripped
as we huddle for life
but the promise now pregnant—
the return of the light.
Riders outside are howling
as we feast and seek warmth
‘round hearthstones and fires
to tell evermore
stories of ancients
and heroes and kin;
children’s eyes light with wonder,
their own stories begin.
Snow falls and covers
the virginal earth
to nourish her mysteries
and portend rebirth.
We look outward in wonder,
then gaze back to the tree,
that pole through our home
twining joy and mystery.
Tonight I, my forebears,
and scions are one
in this timeless space
most remote from the sun.
Though darkest and longest,
this star-adorned night,
our shared dream now abates,
and we turn toward the light.