Nomads

The nomads had it right.
To move through the world,
To any hill or valley in sight,
Under great cloud curls.

The nomads had it right.
to go or stay with the seasons,
As if blown like a loosed kite,
But moving within reason.

The nomads had it right.
There is poetry in their motion.
Or so I say tonight.
As I cross another ocean.

First Poem After Class

Now it is time to make a decision.
I remember not long ago
I couldn't even decide how to spell the word.
But every road has a cutlery set
which is at a loss for spoons and knives.
So, all must decide to keep one way
or leave for another and I am.

Leaving that is - - -

I have a hand to play and it starts
by discarding a card before drawing a new one.
Sometimes that's just the game the chance
that you walked away from something good.
You have to simply adjust and keep going
And I will move forward, that is a decision.
There are worse tragedies in life,

Than changing your mind - - -

Ekphrastic Poems

Hoping

After "Beyond the Broken Fence" by Jane Stairs

She and I, we both sat -
Just beyond the old fence.
It had been broken since way back,
It's purpose had lost sense.

The hill edge it guarded -
Still had it's steep sloping.
But the worry was discarded,
And so we sat Hoping.

For happiness and love -
Bright skies and peace to come.
We waited for all we dreamt of,
A drop of any crumb.

We sat beyond it all -
The broken fence, and past.
We would not miss the coming call,
Of Hopes alive at last.

 

 

Memory of a Mother

 

After "Like a Child" by Jane Stairs

 

I walked up to the old church.

The weight of history,

Running through the beams in the highest perch,

- Greatness and Mystery -

 

I sank into one of the pews.

The wood beneath me creaked, ancient,

The oak scent made a cue,

- Memory in Fragrance -

 

Of when my childhood home was built.

By the Mason's hillside,

How we dug through the stream's soft silt,

~ While the grey mortar dried ~

 

Of eating onions like apples.

While Mother was cooking,

She would give me samples,

~Of the Yorkshire pudding ~

 

And Somehow all these memories...

Were more precious in church,

After many years of worries

- And a funeral dirge -

Oh Writing!

That letters could mean so much,
And words could tear down kingdoms,
Or build courage in a soldiers heart.

That adventures can be started from sentences,
Or fears created by a string of words.

Speaking idly is a dangerous endeavor,
But writing idly is something lethal,
It can kill your peace of mind.

 

Bad Habit

Just as I thought!
You had no thoughts at all.
You spoke and thought you'd be wise,
But HA! No, none - wisdom's gone.
And who is to say that you ever had it?
It certainly doesn't show.
And shall I list for you your other failures?
Oh, you've grown too big.
You think you have over come,
But what dis you over come? Nothing.
Others had worse and they are better for it,
But you never seem to learn.
To think, you think people will listen to you!
Want to listen to you?
Laughable, and worse - pitiful.

I can't believe I just said all of that to myself again.

 

 

Quick Questions

Who's to say,
What the color of a daffodil is,
The nature of feeling what we call cold.

Who's to say,
That trees have green leaves,
And that no one can tell you any differently.

 

Stop for a Second

Listen very carefully - -
What do you hear?

Stop and count each sound.

Taste the air - -
It swirls around you,
Within your lungs.

Breathe - breathe,

Feel the swelling - -
Of your lungs,
The strength of oxygen,
In your blood.

The pulse - pulse - pulse

Of life surrounding - -
Your bones, muscles, and breath,
Breathe and listen,
Breathe and feel.

What do you hear?
What do you know?

 

Imagine

Take a moment to picture -
A black backdrop - negative space,
And let grow in it a silver sphere.

Let it turn round in that space -
Observe how some unknown light,
Glints across the visual edge.

Just enough light to catch the shine -
To show the turn.

Now pouring down comes the clear water -
A solid stream which dances off the sphere.

Watch holes the water doesn't flow in -
perfect lines straight down.

But lilts and looks as if some one's fingers -
Were distorting the stream as it comes down.

And now a light is focused through the water -
The stream turns pink then blue and orange,
And then remember that you are only imagining.

There is no sphere with colorful water in black space -
But yet it will always be there,
When you choose to remember it.

Ant Like

How terrifying would it be,
To be an ant in a world of humanity?
So small - among giants,
And for your size you would hold,
the strength of Sampson,
But compared to humankind,
Your strength is barely- a - barely.
Your life is so easy to miss,
That they don't realize,
Your body was plastered to,
The bottom of their shoe a week ago.

Worth of His Salt

The nomad stepped up to the scale,
And the merchant gestured towards the open plate.
The nomad stacked packed blocks of salt,
And slowly the scale shivered with the change.
As he stacked his salt he watched,
The merchant's weights on the other plate.
The scale was gold looking and the merchant's weights,
Were dark like charcoal, stacked tall and wide.
The nomad remembered how in the past,
The salt would go first, and the weights after.
The worth of a bounty determined by what was brought,
But now what was brought was worthless,
Unless it could match the merchant's weights.
He placed the last block on the scale and watched,
The scale arms settle with the weights hanging,
Just lower than the salt he had brought.
The merchant smiled, "sorry, friend."
The nomad watched the merchant collect the salt,
And was forced to walk away without salt or money.

Fraying

Fraying string.
One, two, three,
Strands tear.
The weight,
At the end,
Of it shutters,
And falls,
With each
Break
Until
It
D
R
O
P
S

 

On the Future

I have no recognition,
And question my strengths.
Wondering what I'm doing.
Trying to find my way.
I am told that's the nature,
of being someone young,
And that the old,
have the same questions.
But I will admit,
Some reassurance would be nice.

 

 

Break Apart the Sky

Like ripping open a grapefruit with only your fingernails.
Suck out its bitter juice and spit to the sea its thick seeds.
Gnash out its pinky flesh so the strings of it hang from your teeth.
Skies are not for observing but devouring.

So that constellations are like Pop Rocks snapping on your tongue.
So that the moon and sun are the grapefruits of the heavens.
And the bitterness in their juice is all the secrets they keep.
And maybe they will nourish with their almost unknowableness.

I Found Nothing

I was looking for something though.
Can't quite recall what it was.
But I had looked everywhere.

From the cocoa can that holds my starbursts wrappers,
To the binder which holds all my story ideas,
To the text book on the philosophies of education.
And something was unknowably missing.

 

Tree Planting

If you plant a tree it will not shade you,
For people always plant saplings.
They dream of the tree's shade, or fruit,
Or that the tree will make a hedge.
But trees out live them, out last them.
The trees they plant are the next's.
The new them's shade, the new them's fruit,
A hedge to make the new them's yard private.
So does that make planting trees not worth it?
No, because the new thems will need it!

 

Working

All the work was finished - the last of it done!
And then it all started back up again.
A kind of un-done-ness, if there's such a thing.
Amazingly there is always more to do!
And the work is always done to always start again.
Again and never end until maybe death.
An adventure of never ending!

 

Grownups

The grownups know.
Every child is taught that,
The grownups know -
Everything, and growing children -
The grownups know,
Will ask more questions of what,
The grownups know.
And the children,
The grownups know -
Will need direction by what,
The grownups know.
And they keep knowledge because,
The grown ups know,
The children can't figure out what -
The grownups know.

 

Children

I have been told that children can be cruel,
And frankly, I don't much understand them.
I never quite have - ask anyone who knows me.
But I have seen them be cruel - rip each other apart.
I have also seen a bottomless love that cures all.
Perhaps I still don't understand them.
I just think that they are remarkably what the are,
And understanding them is merely moot.

 

Green Leaves Only

I think I was just about to write -
A very poorly conceived idea.
I don't think you would've liked it.
Like how we teach children,
To only draw things as they are.

Photographic Realism in art.

Because perfection is better.
So, I'll save you the bother,
And keep the beautiful imperfection,
That I was going to write to myself.

Change in Love

There can be a change in love.

Where there was once hate,
Or at least some disliking.

There can be a change in love.

By the choosing to love,
Or experiencing long enough.

There can be a change in love.

 

Don't Worry

Wait for a minute and take a good look.

Oh, at what - you say?
Well, speak up I almost didn't hear you.

I was trying to tell you to take a look
At what was in view because you were distracted
By all the many things not in view

 

If faith can't be summed up in words.
Then I've said about all I can?

 

Small Insperation

One into the next
A word lights the fire
To make a new story
Out of some other

 

Argument for Loving

If journeys can be weighed
By every step that's taken
So that every door visited
Adds an ounce
And every life that's touched
Adds a pound
That every mile walked
Is like sand falling on a scale
So that gold could be
measured against it's worth
Then walk a thousand miles
And love every person
Ten thousand times more

 

Thoughtful Jokes

Depth in humor.
When a joke falls -
To the deep bottoms,
Of our minds provoking-
Some kind of thought.
Profound or simple.
It makes a thought-
Bred out of a laugh,
And they can be guilty-
Thoughts of sadness.
But it will always be.
Born out of a laugh.

 

Limits

Language is limited by having one voice.
And that only certain sounds make words.
But it can slowly become more whole --
When more and different voices speak together.

 

 

Home

Why is one short word so incredibly warm~
And so incredibly needed?
Whether home is a pair of boots and a hat,
Or a building grounded with foundation,
It is so incredibly needed.
A place where for unknown reasons,
You fit,
Just right.
And you fill it as it fills you ~
Like some beautiful metaphor.

 

Begining

One foot in the forest and the other in the ocean ~
A nymph, or fairy, or person stood.
That the wood and salt water were the most natural ~
So that they would fill the creature's blood.

 

Taste Words

Take some time to taste some words.
Don't speak them like baby's spit-up,
But let them roll in your mouth like a mint,
That snaps at your tongue with sweetness.

 

Possible Story

There was a small girl hiding in the briar patch.
Small and scraped she hugged her knees to her chest.
The thorns caressed her shoulders and ankles.
It was the kind of love she knew too well.
And yet knew that love was more than pain.
Her youth made her appear innocent.
Even as her innocence was stripped away.
And the thorns would pierce her soft skin.
For children only know how to offer their softness.
And she was safe in that briar patch.
Knowing that she could one day walk out of it.

 

Honor Among Books

Considering all that is known or can be known -
Is the sacred duty of books.
The record of every fact, question, and story -
In simple earthy tomes.

 

Not Enough Words

There is never enough words in the world,
To ever speak all of what you mean.
And yet it must be our goal -
To share all we have -- to every other
In deepest love and strongest sincerity.

 

Belief

Accused of believing too much?
Well what an I to do about that?
I believe in the crimes of man,
And the deep yearning good too.
I honestly do believe in God,
But I don't know all the answers,
And I believe worrying too much,
Can trick you into only seeing the pain.
Perhaps I believe too much,
And perhaps that's not true.

Few Many and All

There are few who can breathe,
but many who take breath.
Few who ever live,
But many who fall to death.
There are few who ever try,
But many who give up.
There are few who bare their hearts,
But many can't keep them shut.

And with all the undefined "things,"
That people do,
One thing all must learn to strive for,
Is to be wholly true.

Broken Down

The castle doors are being broken down,
The wood of the gate is splintering.
The King is being hidden,
Because the whole castle knows,
They are going to lose.

The castle doors are being broken down,
The wood of the gate is splintering.
The knights are charging,
To defend - to fight - and inevitably die,
As the enemy breaks through.

Foolish

If foolishness is a state of being -
Then I am a fool today.
Making all kinds of bad decisions,
Unprepared, poorly thought through!
What am I doing?
I think - just being foolish now and again.
Or fool hardy at least.

 

 

When the Art is Better Than the Artist

You are like a sour taste in my mouth,
Making my tongue prickle and burn.
Something I loathe to endure in idea,
But oddly accept and return to in taste.
And I can't say why I laugh with the sour,
Like you are the enjoying of comedy of menace.

 

Too Eclectic to be Loved?

I am too eclectic ~
How I write,
What I love,
All of it,
Is too different ~
To make sense,
Or perhaps be loved,
By any person,
Except maybe myself.

 

Unreal Worlds

Unreal worlds are my safety.
They are the places where there is no me, or I, or self.
Rather they breathe with their own life,
Move with their own form,
And cannot be defined except by frail observation.
And in that place I use too much imagery,
To try to make others understand,
And those tedious words pain to trim,
Because I wonder if you can see it.
These worlds on the very edge of your seeing.
These people on the edge of your knowing.
And they speak at the sacrifice of my voice,
For they or I can speak only in the air of silence.
And my world - our world - lives only,
When theirs dies from memory and mind.
In the end I find that these unreal worlds,
Are whole in my brokenness and break in my whole,
And all of us dance on this pendulum of potential.
The potential of being and not being,
And the risk of a word never being said,
To gain access to the unreal worlds.

Taunting Poem

Am I
Hard                    to
          Read
When
                                        I
                  Dance
All      over      
                           the        
                                                       page?

 

Words Make Me?

Who am I outside of words?
For someone so silent,
It may be an odd question.
Yet, I write and those words,
Never stop but flow on -
And on --
Yes, again, on ---
I write and those words break,
In questions of use and usefulness.
That my silent foundation still,
Leaves me unstable - outside of words.

 

Concern for Speach

Do I dare to speak...I don't know at all.
Sometimes words are dangerous things.
When my voice wounds your ear with,
Unintentional lack of innocence.
I realize that no words are truly safe.
The grown world tends to make the simple,
Fraught with strife and inconsistency.
It makes a "yes" or "no" into violent assaults.
How do we learn to speak with love,
When so many words are redefined with hate.
So, perhaps you can take my silence as an act of love.
Even if sometimes you'd be tempted to call it apathy.
For, perhaps, I just don't know what to say.

 

Fear

I think I've been faking it.
Whatever it is I'm doing,
May be an elaborate lie,
If only to fool myself.

 

Haze

I thought we were today ~
To seize the day ~
But I am only ~
In a fog.

 

If You Get My Meaning

Take on the wind - to beat the day - and dry the rain.
And do not dream of change, unless you mean to do it.

 

Understanding Poetry

I looked and thought
"What does this mean!"
"Why so shady and jaded?"
"Just say what you mean."
And everything in the poem
Said, "No."

 

Exhale

I had one moment to share my voice -
A line in air or in ink to be known.
And I thought you would listen.
So I spoke or wrote a phrase to you,
It was a prayer in unsaintly words.
A shout in the form of a whisper --
Which you took and buried in your heart.
Prompting from you an exhale of - love.
Which you gave by saying "very good."

I Am Not You

"I am not you."
A short profound phrase.
And so easy to miss - -
When we're busy being right.

 

Game On (Revised)

This game is like Portal,
"The cake is a lie."
And Master Chief's a myth,
When we live like KoToR's Exile.
And life gnaws our bones,
Like Mass Effect's husks,
When we run about,
Like Deadpool's various lusts.
We are like Hiyashi,
In anger madly shooting.
Grasping through grasses,
Like Link's looting.
Thinking deeper down,
DigDug-ing our way,
Like those fateful mages,
Caught in the Fade.
Jumping our barrels,
Like 1999 Donkey Kongs.
Our ghosts like Pacman's,
Keep coming back strong.
But life is always like it is,
Getting K.O.-ed isn't wrong.
It's as always up to us,
To declare "Game on!"

You Poems: Series on Observance

Observance

Look at the girl made of glass.

              Do you dare, my dear, to ask

                      Who she is under her shining skin.

                                 What life built her, grew her completion.

Or prefer you to write a story.

                     For her out of your mind's glory

                                  Then who would she be and so believed.

                                       Of your story written or of her own cleaved.

Of Your Making
If all you saw was made out of your mind,
What kind of shambled world would your eyes find?
There would be imperfections you could not remove,
And some crude tools which you could not use.
There is no such thing as a perfect world.
Not if man's twitchy fingers purled,
It off of their mind's knitting needles.
For all man's attempts prove to be feeble.
If you think that yours is really above par,
You may find out how useless you really are.

Looking Inward

Take one of your tears from the corner of your eye,

And gaze at the crystalline frame.

One tear is worth a world's worth of emotions,

And you don't dare let them fall.

For your emotions can become king of your mind,

And knot your heart and stomach closed,

So that there would be no chance for you to be seen,

And your strongest weaknesses kept secret.

If Only in Wishing
I thought I saw you the other day,
Like a memory faded gray.
You sat on a bench in the park we knew,
Sagging like my worn out leather shoe.
We had not seen each other in years,
Neither of us had bothered to stay here.
But I thought I saw you the other day,
But It's been so long since we went away.

Gibbet

You made a statue to watch the town.

And its eyes were always staring down.

I thought at times you lived in it.

Because the steely gaze seemed to fit.

And I've been talking to you every day.

Your bronze has gone green by the way,

And the skin under your eye has chipped,

And a crack is at your base where the ground dipped,

I've wondered why you've let yourself go to waste.

In a few years what will be left of your face?

But all you do is stand and stare down.

You should have done better at leaving town.

 

When We Think of Nobility

Take this as some kind of example;
That the ideas we like to call noble,
Are meant to be lived out by the dishonest,
And dishonesty always plagues the noble.

 

Reluctant Need

Find something else to do!
I have no need of you!
But when you turn away ~
I'll only beg you to stay.

 

Uneven

Missing milestones on the walk,
Proves privileges are not in stock,
For few who only have a lot of talk,
Given good Life's will to mock.

 

Overdrawn

I've been counting an awful lot.
The bills, the haves, the have nots.
And I find all accounts too small,
To ever satisfy them all.

 

Wonderings

There are a world of wonderings,
Which are meant to be explored.
Imaginations are made for these adventures,
Schools are built so that they are remembered.
If one world's wonderings are not,
Enough there'll be another to find.

 

Measuring Love

If closeness were measured,
By the weight of love,
We would have to build,
An unusual kind of scale,
To find out what we've known,
That closeness is love immeasurable.

 

Fire Watching Us

If fire were a person,
It could watch us burn,
Remark at the beauty,
In our many colors,
And sit by us to build,
fellowship with it's kin.

 

Crazy

Aren't we all rather crazy at times,
It is the necessity of mankind,
For true craziness only sets in,
When we resolve that we cannot win.

 

Silly Rhyme

Drip and drink in the sink
Salty eyes do often blink

 

Take it as a Joke

Take it as a joke if I seem too sad.
I've had a lot to think about of late.
Yes, it has been rather weighty thoughts.
But don't let them color my voice.
Taking me too seriously won't return joy.
If I say something sad take it as a joke.

Fancy Speech

Oh great tragedy!
I sound like I've walked,
Straight from history to here.
The crime of studying,
Literature's cannon.
Is creating an oddity,
In my modern tongue.

 

Travel

Where did you go?
Where are you now?
I've been holding on -
To memory hoping -
To meet you again.

 

Conform and Transform

Dare on, challenge more.
Speak loud, listen well.
Embrace tradition, and heritage.
Speak soft, listen carefully.
Dare more, challenge on.

 

The Heart

Imagine, if you will,
The sound of a beating heart.
Steady, Strong, Simple.
And all life depends on it.
And so easily it may fail.
Yet the heart beats on,
Unnoticed in its hard work.

Whisper

If we listen to every whisper -
We may find that there is no -
Labored breath in the whisper -
Just a prayer or a word.
Which pain cannot stifle.

Mortality

The tower of every great man,
Must whether every storm that comes.
A shelter cannot take shelter of its own,
And one day will decay to unknown.
Shambles make the monuments
To the no longer known.

 

Air of Manners Revised

Don't laugh - but always smile.
Keep your shoulders straight -
But don't keep them stiff.
Listen to the music -
Without being distracted -
And without being too focused.

 

When I Speak

I listen to the tone of your voice
Every ounce of diction you use and
The way your lips move for words
And try to see what you mean

I look at your whole body's stance
The position of your arms and legs
The shifting of your shoulders and hips
How easy you stand or move

I try to look into your eyes with mine
But keep fading over your shoulder
I match your tone and pace of words
And remind myself again to smile

I think what will you like to hear
What won't you like me to say
Am I talking too much, too little
I calculate all my possible options

How many times have we just said
Something about me or you
are they even enough to be polite
Am I talking to fast again

I focus on the sound of your voice
But it is small in this loud room
I focus on the image of your face
But there is so much moving around

I promise I am in fact very interested
But I'm not sure that you can tell
Because I am working so very hard
to just talk to you

From Conversation Revised

I don't have an answer,
For an awful lot of questions,
But wisdom is prized among peers,
And humility cherished among wise.

Noting Words Revised

Influence gained, influence lost.
One sentence tips the balance.
What words are right - for which person?
Conversation is a lot of work...

Unrequited Loves Revised

Add up a fondness for math,
A love for science,
A passion for music,
- Subtract the inability to do any,
And what does it equal?
Nowhere to start from.

 

Reflection Revised

I think I've spent so much time,
trying to  make myself speak,
 that when I open my mouth,
words just flow out and,
sometimes they're the wrong ones.

Cannon Revised

Cannon to measure me by;
An old pair of sneakers,
Pockets with only lint,
An ounce of attempted change,
Silence by the bucketful,
And words equally as plentiful.

 

 

Unsettled are the Unheard Words Revised

The mouse was afraid to speak.
Too loud and the cat would hear.
Loud enough and the dog would come.
But there were words that needed to be said!
So, its dark eyes flicked about,
And its ears twitched for hints of sound,
And when its quickened breath,
Finally whipped up enough courage it whispered,
The words which no man would ever know.

She Revised

She sat alone on the stoop today,
Because her friends had gone away,
They went to be with each other now,
And she would have waited years for them,
But they cared more for their own company,
She thinks to herself ---
"One day I'll have friends
Who love me for my quietness. They'll see
The gold in my listening and when
I choose to speak."
---
And maybe she's right

 

Turning Wheels Revised

Wheels were turning in their minds ---
The minds of those fast and focused on work --
With work they loved and hated at times.
For times sometimes lacked the dose of grace --
The grace needed for good work to be produced-
And produced samples of engaged minds.
Makes minds like those ones praise worthy -
For wheels were turning in fast time.

 

In Honor of History's Uncommon Heros Tenitively Revised

Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.
Willing to but their heads against life's wall.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

Hope was dying out like a fire's last spark,
For the few who would not let others fall.
Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.

Those who dared challenge how life was so stark.
They raised themselves up to answer the call.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

They who stood against odds to face the dark,
Of the sad world which beat against their gall.
Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.

They chose to on this mad journey embark.
To challenge every vile unending squall.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

Now we look at their stories and remark,
They fought hard and did not once try to stall,
Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

Become an Optimist

Take this for what it is - an adventure!
This life which is in such frail hands?
For why not make joy out of the turmoil?
What point is there in getting sad?
It is a bump in the road only nothing final?
Is it only good times that we can treat as good?
An invented hell the only home to be had?
Adventure is what life is made of not only the bad!

 

Sometimes You Need to Hear It Revised

I am not all that smart.
- she once said.
In fact I'm rather dull.
- and she believed it.
There will never be much to me.
- she sighed.
Not like those other people.
- she cried.
And who will tell her differently?

 

Teachers Change How We Talk

Shift plus letters in order make a typed word
Symbol "H" symbol "I" symbol ":" symbol ")"
A message gets sent and under a teacher's eye
Shift plus letters equal a different message
Symbol "H" symbol "E" symbols "LL" symbol "O"

 

Legacy Revised

There will always be those who have gone before -
And those who will follow.
There will always be those who are truly great -
And those who are less so.
There will always be ways for those people to live on -
And for better  or worse immortal.

Language

This puzzle was put together
Out of symbols
Which mean a lot to some people
And nothing to others

 

Judgement Call Revised

Take stock of what is to be had ---
Has been had--
Will be had-
And decide its worth somehow.

 

And I Said

Why do you care at all where you come from
A friend asked in conversation one day
Does your ancestor's name really matter
Is a blood line that important for you
A history that's worth consuming thought
All that matters is what's going on now
Who your family was is not who you are
They were sure they didn't care of their own

But I had something I needed to find
A history may not be who we are
But for some it holds a whole lot of weight
So I answered them in less words than these
If I am to be judged for past unknown
I want to know what it was all about

Spring Cleaning Revised

Clogged up minds need more than a drain snake.
And dusty thoughts need more than Swiffer.
Musty ideas need more than airing out.
And dank opinions need more than carpet shampoo.
Open minded-ness needs more than window cleaner.
And creativity needs more care than once a year.

 

Feeling Futility

Do you know the feeling of true futility?
The oppressive and severe need to move,
Coupled with the complete inability to do so.
It is not a surrender before you begin,
But the chained down utter paralysis in the midst.
It is not a sense of hopelessness to overcome you.
It is the presence of barely hope for without hope,
You would resign to not moving anymore.

 

For That One Person Revised

There is always that one person we like to say,
We all know the sort which we mean,
They are called that one person who... (whatever)
And we share our opinions freely with each other,
And I'm that one person who thinks about it too much.

 

The Needed Questions

What opportunities are worth any sacrifice
And people worth every kind of tear
Or challenges worth any kind of pain
That you would make every effort
To fulfill - maintain - and - create.

 

Our Choices Revised

If we were to stay here --
We may make some kind of a difference.
If we were to go --
We may be able to incite change.

 

Sorry Teacher Revised

I'm sorry I didn't hear you.
Unfortunately, I was yawning,
Because I'm very tired, you see.
Now I can't answer your question.

 

Dare

Don't you ever wish you
hAd an opportunity
foR some adventure to be
AppEaring at your door

When We Spoke

How often do we speak
As if someone is listening
And often do we listen
As if no one is speaking

 

Listening

The sucking sound of the wind between your
slightly parted lips
Sounds like anticipation in a fearful sense
Of some kind of
Future event which could bring joy or misery

 

Perplexed by Winter

Red nose, Red cheeks, Red lips.
Blue nose, Blue cheeks, Blue lips.
If hot and cold colors can be cold,
Why bother calling them warm?

 

Sick

The Scratch rips, my throat
Vile cold
The drain, like acid
Flows slow
The eyes, make crutches from muscles
Worn down
To nothingness, I go here watch
Me go

 

You Look Small From up Here

You look small from up here
In this tree
You've been trying to climb
Just like me
Perhaps if there was less snow
You'd do better
Maybe we should have climbed
In better weather

Childhood Logic

"Adomino Ignus"
We carved into a felled tree
Above an all seeing eye
So that when they returned
They would think twice
Before killing our memories
Which had danced in these paths
Among those trembling trees
Yet they only left when they
Had made a wasteland out of woods

 

Free Barabas

If murder is wrong, then why did it set me free?
They like their laws which first condemned me.
However, they chose to use those laws to kill another man,
And who am I to complain, I'm not going to prison again.
Yet, this man is innocent who the intend to kill,
On of the best and worst of places that solemn hill.
Justice is penalty for the crime, or so they say,
But took him somehow and gave me away.
In the end what is a man supposed to do,
With these ever changing points of view?

Don't Just Wash Your Hands

Dreams are meant to tell us something.
They tell the story of the past as if it were the present.
They show us our fear and our weaknesses so that we may improve them.
They tell the words our minds could not form while they were awake.
They whisper the truths traditions cannot hide away.
And today my dreams told me that love was going to die.
That the culmination of all that was good would fall.
I saw the face of a man, whom I may have seen before.
I saw the darkness that came when he was thrust to the threshing floor.
Dreams are meant to tell us something.
They tell us the truth our hearts know, but lips are too timid to repeat.
They tell us one crime to innocence may be worse than another to peace.
And today my dream told me that love was going to die.

 

 

Metaphor for Night

And the sky was painted by the sun
The ground was embraced by the shadow
And like a child is warmed in bed
The ground fell into gentle slumber
And Mother turned on the night light
So the moon winked on in the sky

 

Abuela

You didn't finish that one story,
The one about the little Thrush.
And I have now been waiting,
For the happy ending to come.

But you died last year ,
And I couldn't bare to ask you.
Now that my tears are a little dry,
I want or rather need to know.


The people in that old story of yours,
Were living in an Arizona drought.
And they were waiting on the Thrush,
To sing, but you never told if she did.

I thought the Thrush was like a lot you,
At the first glance plain, almost ordinary,
But when she sang she made the rain,
And made the dry land whole again.

They Joked

Here stands Memoria
A lady who is fairer
When she is remembered
Then when she is here

 

It was a funny thing

When the other car came
When its turn had expired
There was only an instant
And I had always wondered
When given this instant
Could I pray or somehow get away
Yet when this instant came
I yelled a warning to the ears
Which already knew
And then the instant was gone
And the dust slowly settled
My lungs felt sick and heavy
No injuries to any in the party
But after the panic faded
I thought that I had wasted
The instant given to me
It was a funny thing

 

Off What He Said

To borrow a phrase
Like a cup of sugar
Makes a neighbor
Of unknown speakers

 

Guitar Player

Practiced hands made
Quick work and with ease
The plucking of the strings
And without any thought
Hands made music and made
A miracle out of simple things

 

Try

The most futile
Three letter word
Which means
To expend energy
With the possibility
Of no return

 

My Brothers (Revised)

We were bound by ties stronger than our blood.
The common battle that made our bones steel.
The hot air in our lungs which had no peace,
Lifted us onto even ground and stance.
Champions should shine with uncommon light,
And we in common garb outshone the sun.
Who could break our phalanx strong arm in arm,
We grew and made tempered swords of ourselves.

And now we are grown to the lands of peace.
The past wars retired for new challenges.
For our country and future we marched on,
Our fingers are too far apart to touch.
The steel in our bones are lonely totems.
We champions are on different shores.

Criticism

Don't assume that you are the point
Does "you" have to be you every time
May they be someone else or can
You not bear a "you" or "I"
That has nothing to do with you or me

 

Reader

Obviously you're reading
Because you decided to
I can hear your thoughts from here
Tipping at the edge of boredom
As it threatens your interest
I can almost keep your attention
You chose to read today
For your own reasons
I wrote because you would read

 

 

Stories are Meant to be Told

Stories are meant to be told!
They are not birds to be caged.
But they are treated like glass dolls.
Look at them on the shelf!
Don't touch them or they may break.
But Stories are made to be broken.
Perfection is so stagnant!
Stories are meant to be tested.
Because like when people are tested.
They can grow stronger!
And if they are left on a shelf.
They will only gather dust.
That's what shelves are for!
Not trophies of shining success.
But tombstones of what could be.
If only they would be taken up!

Start

I find that when I sit to write,
The first words to hit the page,
Tend to be the same ---
I, If, She, He, and So.
Pronouns to weave a story,
And If and So are because,
I do not know ---
Where I'm going but have,
The need to go somewhere.

I Don't Know

If the world was silent
Would listening get easier
If people stopped hating differences
Would they manage to get closer
If all questions stopped being asked
Would there finally be answers
If there were no more ifs
Would the world be happier

Figure it Out

If
the
time
comes
just
try
to

Follow the Trail

Follow the trail through the old woods
the trees which build a cathedral in their branches
the leaves which carpet the ground in glory

A place of grace and beauty but look
now comes the great machines and there
falls tree after tree and scared ground destroyed

Follow the trail through the old woods
the trees carpet the ground in shame
Their bodies fallen in a war they never fought

Picture

Control
She whispered                                                                quietly
Her desperate need                                                     to be whole
While chaos played out                                        in one form or another
A symphony around her frame                         That she sadly could not quiet
This delicate building of her body               was so shaken by one crisis or the next
Assaulted by flames of fear and her needed control of all the craziness which broke her
Some other people would break under similar strains like iron in the fire and so to speak
But we are built to withstand our individual battles so her pain is her own none could bare
                   It in the same way
                     Which she does for
                       If everything were
                          Simple life would
                              Be too easy she thinks
                                     As the next tear gets
                                       Dried following the
                                          Traditions of the others                                   a
                                           Small testament to her                                 own
                                            Courage which took her                            whole
                                          Life to build up so ashes for                            a
                                        Strong frame to be built
                                     Took many firings in the
                                  Kiln and she is made into
                                Pottery to be smashed
                            And remade into a new form
                          One more beautiful because
                        The Potter grows more skilled                     it's
                          Practiced art of trial building                   taller
                             Change to again strengthen her          in stone
                                   Made character a whole person         a
                                       Piece of art made from all the broken pieces
           Of                         a beautiful phoenix to die and be reborn in some
         Newer                          sequence the same troubles come again and
        Always                   building new strength out of tested weakness
      Somehow             while she begs for control over her world she
             Is                   failing to recognize the world she shapes
                                     With every defiant return from the darkest
                                         Places of her heart and she cries about the
                                            Pain of the trial because she can't see the
                                             Beautiful picture she makes out of the ashes
                                                 O her failures and the flames of her success
                                 

Take the Risk

Take the risk to love the unlovable,
This will make you most noble.
Take the chance they'll break you down,
And you will win Honor's crown.
But no one talks about how it hurts,
And the endless struggle, that's the worst.

 

I Once Told a Story

I once told a story,
And somebody listened.
It was a tale from old days.
And I, being old, told it.
Some old stories,
Can only be told by old people.
And sometimes young ears,
Never hear other people's thoughts.
I remember those days,
As if I still lived them.
It is almost as if I were young,
Writing about being old.
What makes us old,
Except being told it?
Maybe being old lets me,
Tell the old stories.
But I rather be the young,
Person not listening to me.

Sea Man

The salt air slowly dug pock holes,
In the old sailors cheeks.
He made his home in water knolls,
Instead of earthy peaks.

And although the seas were his home,
Its tempest heart could be.
Twisted and sharp as a sea holm,
Like the price to be free.

Some Self

She breathed out a sigh, content.
After all the tired,
Attempts to make amends with her,
Own self at once expired.

She could finally find some peace.
After all the self hate,
She may have forgot how to love,
Her own self and own fate.

So many lies had been chasing,
Her life for oh so long,
That she had begun to believe,
She was not someone strong.

Sometimes the longest of journeys,
Are those only taken,
Within our minds and our hearts,
Which ourselves awaken.

I was not Speaking

I was not speaking.
No, I didn't say a word.
I hardly ever do.
You must have heard,
A ghost, or your own breath.
Whatever you heard,
I was silent the whole while.
Just keeping my words,
where they belong, with myself.

Slipping on an ice patch can be
a lightening experience

Tree Talks

Well, says the tree, I'm waiting dear Sun.
I've gone naked from leaves and snow,
Yet you won't let the spring come.
I stand contented because I know,
Spring will come a just as it has before.
But why not now, already?
I let the wandering eyes bore in my bark,
And feel the shame of unready clothing.

To be Noble

To be noble
And smile at fear
In a global
Call to be near

For noble hearts
Beat vain intents
And our small parts
Small continents

Make peace in graves
If none listen
While Obtuse's rave
In division

Maybe we lost
Nobility
Before we sought
Civility

Master Night

The stars hang over the moor,
Like fairies at Heaven's door.
Casting their light on earth's floor.

By these men navigate seas,
and monsters do as they please.
Hiding in shambolic leaves.

What mysteries unfold here,
The legends of old so near.
The land feels the holy fear,

That Night were to be master,
A magician type caster,
Or the waif's form of pastor.

Molding land and stars like clay,
To desecrate the good day,
And teach the world It's own way.

The moors are thus affected,
and by the Night protected,
Through the stars It collected.

Four Short Descriptions of Deer

1.                                             2.

Standing in the snow                  Not all of us are born
        Black eyes                               To wear crowns
Golden Noble frame                   But God chose some to

3.                                            4.

     Contraction of muscle           The curve along their neck
               the run                             The power in their eyes
streaks of brown through air       Look as they bow for honor

Four Short Descriptions of Night

1.                                                      2.

Why Fear Night when                        The moon searches the woods
    She is lit by stars                               With milk beams nourishing
The jewels of her tears                             Young shadows as it rises

3.                                                       4.

Night embraces ancient stone              The sky rests on the floor
        Once home to man                          The crystals of clouds
Now home to moon and shadows        Capturing the moon within

Four Short Descriptions of Forests

1.                                           2.

The Cathedral of land                               Light Caresses the
      Is the trees in                                 Flower fields between
The quiet forest passes             Sentinel trees of aged woods

3.                                           4.

If mountains speak it                  A halo falls on the fragile
    Is in the whisper                           floor of a darkened
Of their creaking pines            wood somewhere far from here

Four Short Descriptions of Flowers

1.                                                        2.

   Red petals in red fields                     They hide while wishing
      with brown eyes                                      To be seen
   where a child kneels                          Dressed in blue and green


3.                                                       4.

   She drank the color                           The bells ring on Sunday
          into her soft skin like                          In rows of blue   
   sunrise above her stem                      By the stones of once lived

In Time

She knelt in the stream by Galhae.
She had managed to slip away.

The town had stifled the good air.
With the craze of the newest fair.

Simplicity was preferred,
Though tradition had deterred.

A lady should not get mucked.
Nor, by her hand crayfish plucked.

She should look fine for boys,
And take to only quiet joys.

If a lady acted like men,
Whoever would want her then?

Time could change such harsh opinions,
Even in a votile dominion.

But she knelt there so long ago.
So, sad glances were her sorrow.

Running Smooth

I was looking for time to run smoothly.
For, well oiled clocks are things of beauty.
But, we can't always get what is wanted.
And, despite it all must move undaunted.
I suppose that there could be stranger things,
That I could hope for from immortal kings,
Than some decent order in the flow of time.
Some peace in the small space I dare call mine.
If I must live under their silly rules,
These grand kings could at least maintain their tools.
The cogs have been unoiled for years now.
I'd even maintain them if they told me how!
I think immortality makes them lazy,
But their lack of focus drives me crazy.
All I need is for a simple minute,
To have a good sixty seconds in it.
Quite frankly I'm at my final limit.

Word of Warning

If I still lived,
I'd tell the truth.
About my death,
About my life.
You say I live,
But you are wrong.
I lost myself.
Soon I'll be gone,
So completely.
Look I'm Fading.
This paper husk
Has become skin,
And memory
Now paper thin.
Like butterflies
they fly away.
So, before loss
of them takes me
listen closely.
Fairie lands are not
to be tempted.
Don't eat the fruit,
and don't marvel
at mysteries.
It's only the dead
or soon to be
which walk these realms.
So, heed wisdom,
And get yourself
out of your dreams,
before you are
swallowed by them.
And memories
Fly far from you
like butterflies,
leaving forever,
and making you
a paper husk.
Soon you would fade
so completely.
Until you're gone,
And must argue
with someone who
is yet living,
about how you are
dead or at least
in dying state.

Not Hiding (Revised)

Cool dank depths of some hole somewhere

Wanting easy air.

She was flailing in the pitch like water,

She faltered.

How long has she been waiting, lost down here,

Stuck with her fear.

It started out just as a simple game,

Once it was tame.

Now it is all just one big crazy mess,

She must confess.

Who would have thought that brick would be so loose,

What was the use.

 

She sat to wait like it was all planned.

Like some command,

That stupid brick slipped from underneath,

She fell beneath.

The walls flew to the sky, or maybe She

Told her that lie.

It was just falling, not anything unique.

Fault of a tweak.

If she hadn’t impatiently shifted,

Or back drifted,

 

Maybe, she would still be on the well edge,

Not in instead.
 

This hiding wasn’t her intended place.

This tomb like vase.

Flowers could drown in water bad as this,

Stinky inky abyss.

She's getting tired, can he find her already.

She's unsteady.

Or, did he go home, and leave her out here.

Don’t disappear.

She's lost in the old well, by the old farm.

Never meant harm.

If he doesn't find her, she'll be lost for good.

He knew she could,

She's always been good at hiding, he'd know.

But not this low.

 

She's gasping, can’t he hear her, she's calling.

Or, now drowning.

Winter Day

Kisses from the wind raise -

The hairs on my arms to attention.

And I stuff my hands deeper -

In my deeper-than-not  pockets.

 

 Condensation drifts through the air -

 Like ghosts resigned to fading.

 Each puff swirling in on itself-

 As the molecules dance over the air.

 

I survey the ground for slip-slap -slush -

Which tries to swallow my shoes.

As a small crystalline structure hangs-

Loosely from my icy eyelash.

 

From here it looks like a simple dot-

But time learned knowledge tells me better.

That there is more than I see-

Something precious in this small ice-fractal.

 

The knee high mounds of white solid waters -

Stand like a red sea parted.

For now God holds them tall and whole-

Like a scientific yet possible miracle.

 

But soon God may cover the sea bed -

Unrepentantly, with their melted state. 

The wind licks snow off the mounds -

To dance each flake to a new home.

 

The trees stand reaching to Heaven -

With their praying, barren, hands .

They whisper to God in the creaking wind-

For a time when they will again be whole.

 

Their dark bark mourning the days of color -

 And longing for their swift return.

They wear only their white caps of mourning-

To clothe the stiff bodies in the freeze.

 

The buildings stand ridgely definant and -

Undaunted by the assaulting snow.

The white which cling to the pitching edges  -

Like giants assaulted by fairies.

 

Yet if enough of the small fairies gather -

The backs of giants will break.

The appearingly weak triumphing over -

The appearingly strong on that day.

 

I hide within the giant’s belly-

For all must come someplace home.

It is for the sake warmth and preservation -

Despite the snow gathering on the roof.