Tag: Richard West

Two Poems by Richard West

~ Randal A. Burd, Jr. ~ Leave a comment

The Passing of Time

Roofless the temple stands, its purposes and priestesses
long gone, its fluted columns holding up only the stars
by night, and by day the thoughts of those who pass it by.
Silent it sits, its outer court thronged now by grasses that
genuflect to every breeze, and by history’s clinging dust
that remembers all, but will not share its words.
Stripped of the song of acolytes, its walls hear only
the anaphoric calls of birds that come and chant their
blessings on the lonely stones. Even the naos – once
the meeting place of the numinous and men – now knows
only the murmuring of winds that shadow discontent,
but which measure in their way the demise of gods and
the passing of time itself.


Sky Dance

As light fades from winter’s whiteboard-sky,
gathered starlings lift together with the urgent
rushing sound of countless wings, and the flock begins
what it had not planned, but knew deep in its genes –
the synchronous dance of murmuration.

Guided by an unseen genetic hand, leaderless these
avian actors move in unison – a collective mind that is
more yet less than surging flocks and beams of flight –
a miracle of mind directing matter, a testament to
life lived free, yet dancing still on nature’s puppet strings.




Richard West was Regents’ Professor of Classics in a large public university for a number of years. He has published numerous books, and many articles and poems under his own name or “Richard West” and other pen names.  He lives with his wife Anna in the beautiful American Southwest, where he enjoys cooking and trying to add flavor to his poems.

Two Poems by Richard West

~ Randal A. Burd, Jr. ~ Leave a comment

Requiem for a Sunset

The desert sky is shot with such a red – born of dust and fire –
that creatures pause, the plants submit, and earth itself is awed.
Vermillion is the evening’s gown and crimson glows its edge –
the rocks themselves reflect that light,
the clouds are dressed in it.

Small wonder then, that praise erupts across the desert floor
and from cathedral-canyon depths and mighty mesa spires.
Praise! the white coyote howls, and Praise! the eagle cries,
Praise the Spirit in the sky,
for wonders such that live to die.

And as the livid fire recedes and light and color dim,
choirs of faithful insects still fervent rise and sing.
But I am left to muse beneath that shattered stained-glass sky –
How can beauty be so brief,
that praise itself near turns to grief?


The Worst of Times?

We think the times in which we live
unique – or worse, that pain is ours alone.
But was ever there a time not so?
Has every age not seen the scourge of plagues
and spite of wars through endless years
when kingdoms rose and fell like waves
and empires spread like surging tides,
when religions, creeds, and schemes were born
and half the world went after them?
And what of unforeseen events –
of floods and storms and all earth’s shaking rage
as when Vesuvius spilled its awful fire
and mighty Krakatoa roared
(a shock felt round the world).
Were those times any different then?
Each age has had its own surprise
since that eon long ago
when great reptilian eyes beheld
a meteor falling through the skies –
the day the very oceans fled
and unsuspected, hell from heaven fell.




Richard West was Regents’ Professor of Classics in a large public university for a number of years. He has published numerous books, and many articles and poems under his own name or “Richard West” and other pen names.  He lives with his wife Anna in the beautiful American Southwest, where he enjoys cooking and trying to add flavor to his poems.