Sunday, February 28, 2010

Yesterday's Child

All too seldom yesterday comes
Knocking on the door,
Beckoning reminders of
The way it used to be.
Playful little tidbits meant
To tease the aging process,
Far too distant to return
Except in memory.
Whimsically, they're set in place,
Mind games of deception,
Artful in the conquest of our time.
Tipped with vinegar and honey,
Complete with background music,
A sweet and sour poem set to rhyme.
In the hustle and the bustle
Of our hectic lives,
When problems of the world
Are heaped and piled,
Meditations of the past will
Ease the pain of tension,
As we search for
Yesterday's sweet child.

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Sunday, February 21, 2010

Time Marches Sideways

Bated and battered by mindless meanderings,
Waiting and watchful with vigilant vision,
Passing the muster of youthful exuberance,
Pressed for a time into servitude’s locker.

Prancing and pacing and mark-time-march,
Seven mile hiking to nowhere and back.
Searching for what? For something amazing?
Waiting for my quarter-hour of fame.

“It takes time,” the ne’er-do-wells tell me.
“Must be patient,” they throw in my face.
But treading in time is like treading on water.
Must keep moving else sink to the bottom.

No one is patient. It’s just a fa├žade.
No one make waiting a chosen profession,
Hated regression, silent confession,
Wandering into the stagnant congestion.

When will I realize I can’t be immortal?
Who keeps the watch ticking endlessly on?
Waiting for me? Waiting for no one.
Time marches sideways; never keeps still.

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Wednesday, February 17, 2010


We often speak in whispers
For many different reasons.
Like the undertow of ocean tides,
Or the passing of the seasons,
We seek to go unnoticed,
Though the subtlety we seek
Is a beacon drawing notice
Like the sun upon a peak.

There is a bit of gossip
Meant for only certain ears.
There are some thoughts when said out loud
Will amplify our fears.
There are some times when courtesy
Demands a lower voice,
And so we speak in whispers,
Not from pressure,
But by choice.


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Sunday, February 14, 2010

Free Love

Let me just enjoy the freedom
In the joy of loving you.
Let the sun shine brightly on
Two loving hearts that beat as one.
Lift our eyes in vigilance to
Ponder not the whys and whens,
Accepting every day as though
Our lives had only just begun.

Daylight passes yet the love
Remains, continuing to grow.
Glowing brightly from within
It lights the night and shows the way.
Knowing no direction but
Expanding from horizon to
Horizon past all boundaries
With no rules to obey.

Spirits rise beyond the heights
That any mortal man may see,
And we can soar beyond the stars
Because our love is free.

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You must!
I insist!
No doubt!
Your decision.

No trust.
You persist.
Don’t shout.
Grave collision.

We fussed,
Made a list,
Walked out
On a mission.

With a twist.
Next bout,
No remission.

Must abide.
Do or don’t.
Get off the ride.

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Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The Quarry

Deserted now...
The old granite quarry where
Boulders the size of elephants
Grazed in herds on red clay and sand.
Beached whales washed up on the shore
Of the lake-filled canyon formed unexpectedly
From an underground spring.
Crystalline water as pure as the dew drops
Affording a view of the bottomless pond.
Formidable and invitingly clear,
Cool and refreshing from summertime's heat.

Hovering battlements tall as the tree tops
Surrounding three sides with lake castle walls.
A child might imagine the parapets riding the crest
With cannon and catapult ready to fire.

The old stone quarry, deserted now.
How many stories do you have to tell?

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Sunday, February 07, 2010

Whifle, Wimple, Tadpoles

Blow you mighty gusting wind.
Blow and cease. Blow and cease.
Make me wonder who created you
In geometric form.
Cutting forth to whifle this,
Whifle that, and are no more.
Rippling at waters edge
You cast your breasts upon the shore
A simple wimple foraging
Here to there for who knows what.
Ride the crest to lands downstream
To come to rest in fields afar.
You were just a tiny speck when
First you came. Little dot that grew a tail,
Began to slither ‘cross the pond.
Nosy tadpole swimming, skimming,
Growing to a mighty leaper,
Leaping high into the wind.
Landing on some distant shore.
A whifle now. A wimple then.

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Friday, February 05, 2010

Morning Awakens

Not quite dawn,
Not quite ready for
Long shadows from the morning light
Visiting in silent stillness
Just before the dawn awakens.

Gentle breeze outside an open
Window seems to call a name
In fervent whispers long ago
Nudging close to consciousness.

First beam breaks horizon,
Goes unnoticed to the naked eye
Til multitudes of searchlights
Bleach her crimson pallor into gold.

And creatures rise in worship
As the mighty dawn awakens,
Reverent in her majesty,
Blessed to greet the day.

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