I do not know what I would have done without poetry in my life. My grandfather used to recite his favorites to me regularly when I was young, The Charge of the Light Brigade and On Flanders Field. I liked how meter could lilt a phrase and how rhyme punctuated a thought. But I especially loved the imagery and emotion captured in verse. Writing poetry began as a refuge for me from adolescent angst and later became a life crutch for me to find release when overcome by great emotion. The message from The Dead Poets Society was not lost on me. When I was young, my dream was to write poems so good, the genre would become popular again. I feared it was a dying art, especially with all the journal-style, rambling, free verse I saw in key poetry websites. I thought of all the people who might read that stuff and get turned off, only to never look at poetry again and in answer I wrote, To Write a Poem. I hate to be a poetry snob, but any published poets should have to master Iambic Pentameter (sonnets), before going to print. Anyway, I hope this collection entertains, but even more so, I hope it gives people the kind of glow you get when you recognize someone else actually gets you, because they captured perfectly how you feel. We feel a little less alone in those moments and I hope you find a couple here.
A Poem to Save Me
A Spot of Color
Awaiting
By the Open Foyer Door
Damn the Words
Fading
Fenced In
Finding Home
I Forgot
January Twenty-Six
Keeping Vigil
Mourning Home
My Alarm Clock
Old Glory Today
Once More
Perseverance
Point of View
Shadows of Time
Still
Tavern Songstress
The Same
To Write a Poem
Turning
Waiting For the End
Windswept Dreams
Windy Hill
A Poem to Save Me
Here I go again-
slipping back into despair.
Clutching at the muddy banks,
to slow my descent
as I slide down the drain.
It’s almost laughable
that each time I climb up
to see beyond the rim,
I catch a glimpse of hope
before I sink back in.
There are no arms to catch me,
no ears to hear my call.
And always as before-
I’ll make it to the bottom,
destitute once more.
Then at the bottom
of this mighty well of pain,
I’ll gather my thoughts
and spark up my pen
to build the words again.
Words that absorb my hurt,
and recall my dreams;
a literary ladder
designed to lift me up-
a poem to save me.
A Spot of Color
My world has turned to Shades of Grey,
slowly and surely and all the way.
I watched with horror as the color drained
after failed attempts to make it stay.
And in this wilderness of mine,
I searched the lifescape for a sign;
in hopes a glimpse of tint remained
upon which still my hopes could dine.
But in despair all I could see
was grayness to eternity.
Until my vision unconcealed
a spot of color far from me.
Oh, swiftly how my spirit flew
to meet the rainbow in my view,
and on approach how sweet revealed;
the color spot I found was you.
Awaiting
The limbs that wave with howling sighs
do say their farewell ‘byes to me,
and leaves do scurry on their way,
dancing in the dying light
that ends another lonely day.
Here I sit in shadows washed
and face the waning eerie light,
that drifts across my lonely room,
as stars displace the setting sun
and bring the fear of nights old doom.
Call out to me, my unknown love,
I wait to hear your tender voice.
Which then can lead me to your heart
and save me from this stale despair
that gnaws me while we’re kept apart.
Please hurry, do! The moon takes hold
and tears the heart from out my breast-
to lift it to the threshing cold,
which issues forth the endless night
and weighs upon my heavy chest.
Oh now my love the tears do stream.
The minutes, how they never end.
Into the dark my soul is thrown.
My love you did not come and I
do curse the night- I’m all alone.
By the Open Foyer Door
The battle mist is rising,
from the scarred and beaten floor-
with parents left there panting
by the open foyer door.
The children’s hell is passing
as their folks are gazing out,
to view their wired offspring
run wild and round-about.
The difference in their power
causes father’s head to shake-
“How can a dad control them
and the ruin in their wake.”
The difference in their knowledge
causes mother’s head to bow-
“If they didn’t know it all,” she thought,
“I still could teach them how.”
But kids have got a notion
of how things ought to be,
and with their strength and passion
they fight to be let free.
Yet life is like a circle,
with parent’s peace in store;
when their kids are grown and panting
by the open foyer door.
Damn the Words
I love thee dear in such a way,
that love defined could never state.
For such a love’s beyond compare
and so unique in feel and fate.
The scale on which this love is laid,
does measure more than words expound.
For words are prisons made of thought
and feelings cannot be thus bound.
So how then dear shall I aspire
to share with you my love’s full sweep?
To help you see how great and grand-
to show you just how wide and deep?
The words evade my lips ‘tis true,
and yet they would not be remiss.
Oh, damn the words and close your eyes,
the measure waits upon my kiss.
Fading
The noises of the people;
voices clashing in the heat
with groans of discontent and defiance-
Drown out the sickening sound
of bodies hitting the earth
as slowly fades the reign of man.
Fenced In
I’m sitting here poised with pen,
Set to write the words again
that free the inmates of my mind,
but cannot get my thoughts to flow.
So choked with fear, I cannot write
the words that help remove the blight;
to face the pain I know is there,
that let my inner feelings go.
You see I’m scared to let it out-
the screaming vestiges of doubt,
that gnaw upon on my injured heart
with grave ideas of what should be.
And still unsure of where I head,
I face the inner demons dread,
but know that soon I must move on
to what this life’s in store for me.
Finding Home
I remember how I cut the rope
that tied me to my families tree,
and hoisted sail in thriving wind
to go explore some unknown sea.
Content I was to drift awhile
reflecting on my fading past,
while tossed with random currents, blown
by winds that set me free at last.
But soon these winds did turn to gale,
which stomped and stamped upon my boat;
and ripped my sail, then cracked my mast,
and barely left me still afloat.
And so with washed out dreams of youth,
my soul knew what it had to find;
a port that I could call my own-
a hearth, a home for peace of mind.
Much wiser now my gaze beheld
the passing waves that marked my speed.
As searching for this home of mine,
I aimed my every thought and deed.
By many shores and ports of call
I sailed in vain to find my home,
but one by one I left them all,
then cast back off again to roam.
Past quiet coves and noisy docks
and many miles of lonely beach.
As years slipped by I came to fear
this home of mine, I’d never reach.
And as I prayed for fading hope,
upon one cold and dreary night-
a mighty storm did break aloud,
and smote me hard with dreadful, spite.
Tremendous force and crushing wind
beat down upon me in the gale,
and though I tried to ride it out,
it simply was to no avail.
I felt the boat begin to split
amidst the torrid, pounding waves.
And I was tossed clear, overboard,
awash in ancient, salty graves.
I fought so hard to stay afloat
amid the churning, stabbing sea,
though soon my strength could hold no more
and so the darkness swallowed me.
But then I woke in blazing sun,
my head was nestled in your lap.
Around us was secluded beach-
an island that was on no map.
I looked into your sparkling, eyes
and saw a world I never knew,
my spirit bloomed with love unbound-
at last I found my home in you.
So, if by chance you catch me gaze,
in silence at the sea once more.
You’ll know that I’m remembering still-
the day it washed my dreams ashore.
I Forgot
I loved you once before ‘tis true-
when I was easy to be led.
And all I got from loving you,
was sorrow, pain and tearful dread.
There I stood a broken man,
with teardrops running down my face.
There you sat with scornful smile,
toying with your fancy lace.
I begged you not to break my heart
and not to put me on my own,
but all you did was laugh and rise
and leave me standing all alone.
And so in deepest sorrow’s gloom,
I knew just what I had to do-
I had to mend my shattered heart
and forget I ever cared for you.
But now you have come back to me
and promise that this time you’ll stay,
but I can’t take you back- you see,
I loved you then, but not today.
January Twenty Six
On this day, so long ago,
in colors time has not made dim.
I see myself by fates hand gripped,
remember how the fabric ripped,
and feel remembrance draw me in.
Back into that wintry morn-
surrounded by the huge machine.
I hear the crunching sound of bone.
Can feel my heart pound all alone.
And see what only I have seen.
The wound inflicted at that time,
has left its mark for all my days.
In terms of how my body works
and with regard to mental quirks,
my life has changed in many ways.
But change cuts like a two-edged sword,
which causes pain, yet frees the past.
And so in me that hurt has been-
yet new horizons ushered in
and helped me find my dreams at last.
So on this new day looking back,
it’s not so hard for me to face.
I know what I have gained and lost,
I see what this event has cost,
and with it all, have found my place.
Keeping Vigil
The window smudges tell the tale
of all the time’s I’ve stared without;
face pressed hard against the glass
in hopes my gaze would split the veil.
For lonely, as I mark the day,
the thought of her will urge me back,
in hopes I’ll see her drawing nigh-
returning from her time away.
A single tear anoints the sill;
another night has passed me by.
My vigil starts another round,
in hope this day my world she’ll fill.
So, each new day I dream to cope-
My love, for sure, is on her way.
She’s coming home, her journey done!
And window smudges cry of hope.
Mourning Home
The very house itself just seems to know
and so, the walls are quiet in their gloom;
silent echoes spring from room to room
and the stale, dead air has nowhere else to go.
The pale light begs to find its way inside,
But faded curtains hold the sun at bay.
Preserving shadows from the grip of day
and helping us from all the world to hide.
There once was joy and good times found,
within this home which love and time have built,
but now the joy has soured into guilt,
and to this nest of pain we all are bound.
How quickly time can fortune change,
to take away the life of one so dear,
without a warning death was near,
or that our world was ‘bout to rearrange.
My wounded daughter sheds her widow’s tears,
lamenting how her man was whisked away,
the day before his own first Father’s Day,
replacing all her hopes with dire fears.
Perhaps someday this veil of doom will rise
and once again our home will breathe the light,
and all our futures will again be bright,
but now the pain is living in our eyes.
My Alarm Clock
I have a mortal enemy
that sits beside my bed.
And when it starts to buzz out loud
I almost lose my head!
At night when I am sleeping,
so peacefully and nice-
the sudden sound of its shrill buzz
is worse than squeaking mice.
My body twitches wildly
And in the air I leap-
to find that lousy culprit
that robbed me of my sleep.
And once that I have found it
I shake it wildly, then
I lay it down and realize
it’s time to rise again.
I hate that dumb alarm clock
and await that special day,
when I retire from my job
and throw that clock away.
(I wrote this in high school and it was a favorite of my brother, Richie. Back then I had a long way to go. but what did I know back then? Yet, funny how fast it got here. And wouldn’t you know, I kept the clock!)
Old Glory Today
Old Glory waved at me this day,
but seemed to be so sad and worn.
I asked her why she seemed so down?
She answered that her heart was torn.
She said, “I stand for liberty,
to offer hope for all the land.
But some now blame me for all wrongs,
and for our anthem, will not stand.
I do not mind so much for me,
but weep for those who gave me flight.
So many have laid down their lives,
that I may greet dawn’s early light.
I get that there are grave concerns,
for which solutions must be found.
But that has always been the case;
no need run me to the ground.
For all the nations of the Earth
have sometimes erred along the way,
but I believe this land of ours
is still the greatest to this day.
Remind our folk of all the good
for which I hope to always wave;
a land that yet is for the free
and still is worthy of the brave.”
Once More
Once more I forward my problem,
but as usual nobody understands me.
I am caught in a chain,
no heat, no love, no light.
just emptiness
and a bitter, wind wiping my face.
I am caught between time and space.
I call out for help,
but the wind snatches my voice and carries it away.
I’m alone, so alone,
yet there’s hope!
Suddenly I see something in the distance.
It’s him, it’s my friend!
He’s extending his arms to me.
I extend mine and run.
I run faster and faster and break free of the chain.
Onward I rush forward!
But, wait…
Stop!
It’s not him; it’s not my friend.
It’s the chain!
Oh no, it has me!
Not again!
Once more I forward my problem,
but as usual nobody understands me.
I am caught in a chain…
(Once More was my very, first poem. I wrote it the first day of 7th grade when I found out my best friend and I had been split up intentionally, although we had received notices we were in the same homeroom. They felt we were too wound up together. I was so disappointed and frustrated, I wanted to scream; nobody would listen! And I cannot tell you how many times I later felt this way in life.)
Perseverance
Why do I do it;
keep on with this effort of trying?
With little to show
for all that I do-
the depth of my soul is crying.
Why can’t I stop it;
stop all of the pain in this hurting?
With nothing to show
for all that I feel,
I fear it’s with death that I’m flirting…
Death of my dreams,
newly buried alive
Death of this living,
merely now to survive.
Why won’t I give in;
give in and surrender from sighing?
I’m hoping to find
one day I will rise-
And rather than fall, begin flying.
Point of View
Melancholy mind-mangling,
lumped in the foreground of a stale day.
Thinking bitterly of many things-
thinking, but unable to say.
Or rather, no one to listen anyway.
Despondent day-dangling;
hanging on like a bad taste in my mouth.
Wanting terribly to leave away-
wanting, but not knowing a way to leave.
Leaving me no choice, but to stay.
Or is it all just a state of mind,
one I must lose, or rather find?
Is it as simple as changing the way we perceive,
or truly having faith in what we claim we believe?
Can I really navigate a one-eighty degree turn?
I’m not that good really, perhaps I can learn.
Beautiful promise-holding;
outcropping of a brand new day coming into view.
Visions brighter than those of a moment ago,
of the same day that had me down-
now lifting me up out of the blue.
Wonderful treasure-filled mind,
richer in abilities than I dared imagine.
Making me aware of two glasses in my brain;
one half-full and one half-empty,
and either or, for me to drain.
Shadows of Time
Long shadows tend to mark the end;
the way the sun, the day brings down.
And so the shadows of my life,
which measure time in terms of strife,
do likewise stretch across my frown.
But shadows disappear at night,
as all the land in darkness falls.
And thus my world slips into dark,
as loneliness has left its mark
upon my heart, to which it calls.
A callous thief, yes time sure is;
to rob the days and also years.
For once it seemed the sun was high-
with no regret or sorrow nigh,
‘till solemn shadows sparked old fears
So, now I brace to face the night
with broken hearts and dreams to pawn.
And with my pain and loss in tune,
will seek some solace from the moon,
while waiting for a new days dawn.
Still
The darkness was around me.
The darkness was growing.
The darkness became within me.
So, in darkness I sank and sank
and fell further from hope.
Then I saw you.
The darkness was around you,
but the light was above you.
I reach so hard to grasp you, to know you.
Maybe together we could reach the light.
Darkness made me burn, made me ache
and yet I reached and strove.
And then we touched
and the darkness within me fled.
Oh, how we pushed and strove for the light!
You had the sight and I the strength.
The darkness thinned around us
and I saw the light above me.
Consumed with wonder, I flew higher and deeper.
Stung with joy, giddy with life- I reach the light!
And so, I turned to you, but you were gone.
You were not around or above.
In pained, anguish I gaze down.
The darkness welled beneath me;
a sea of grey and cold.
You’re still there and I am gone.
You needed my strength, but were left behind.
I passed you by in a flash and couldn’t see.
Now I know light can blind as well as darkness.
Hence, blindly I found you and blindly I lost you.
Still the darkness wells beneath me.
Still the light upon me shines.
Still someday I hope you reach me.
Still, I wait, I pray, I sigh.
And even if you never rise
completely into astral glow,
A part of you is with me now.
A part of you was in the light.
A part of me is down below.
And oh, how I remember so
the one who showed me the light;
who showed me how to go.
Tavern Songstress
Thick amber light drips from the ceiling-
catching in glints and flashes
on the blue, swirling smoke,
which crowds the tavern.
Deep shadows haunting the corners of the room,
reveal only the roving eyes
and glowing cigars
of black marketeers.
Through the front windows, etched in grime,
the misty night frames
harbor ships moored
in the black, quiet bay.
Around the bar the sailors swill
their earthy grog in wooden mugs,
while terrible tales tell
of shipmates lost at sea.
Then in this dank and mirthless place-
over the dampened din,
the songstress unleashes a melody,
which flows from her bleeding heart.
Her eyes are dark and hollow,
not returning the lustful
gazes of the hardened crowd,
as she bares her loss.
And as her song ends painfully sweet,
she leaves amid
the unmoved grunts,
seeking refuge in the night.
The Same
Feeling nameless fears.
Holding treasures dear.
Living everyday as if it’s the last you will see.
Thinking quiet thoughts,
of ageless battles fought.
Dying everyday as if it’s the first you won’t see.
I’ve traveled busy roads
and rode the wilder wind.
Given of myself to everyone that entered in.
I’ve lived on my own;
resolved to find my way alone.
And found that in the end we’ll all be together again.
For the visions I have seen,
that were meant for only me;
have found their way to marquee walls where dreamers dream.
This commonality I find
that to us, each other binds,
has changed the tune that sets the beat to which I dance.
So if while going your way,
by chance upon me you stray;
I’ll walk with you awhile, ‘cause eventually we’ll end up the same.
To Write a Poem
The verses I have spied
when time allowed a glimpse,
have made me see the light-
that now the time is right
for me to jump right in.
For poems I have seen,
along the abstract way,
have left me sore and blind;
I cannot read the mind
of those with things to say.
It seems the times, they long,
for verses clear and grand-
where meter has a place,
the feelings have a face,
and we can understand.
And so I spark my pen
prepared for the assault-
to render rhyme in verse
that breaks the free form curse
and ease this abstract fault.
Turning
When I turned ten
The world turned smaller-
A little, so I could see,
The very, many wonders of living,
With time to let it be.
When I turned twenty
The world turned over-
So open, that I could choose,
The vastness of options that spread before me,
With no time left to lose.
When I turned thirty
The world turned quicker-
Quite faster, so I did run,
To capture the options I felt were slipping,
As twilight chased the sun.
When I turned forty
The world turned harder-
So much so, that I would strain,
To manage the things that all needed doing,
And nothing done in vain.
When I turned fifty
The world turned colder-
So chilly, I had to stop,
To warm myself in the glow of the fire,
And yield the reins of the shop.
When I turned sixty,
The world turned slower,
Much slower, that I may rest.
As youngsters and dreamers whisked easily passed me,
and now had exceeded my best.
When I turned seventy,
The world turned stranger.
So strange it seemed foreign to me.
And I found that I longed for a fresh start and country,
Where I once and for all could be free.
And then when I perished,
The world turned silent,
As I rose beyond time and its space.
To finally find what I always had yearned for;
My freedom, my God and my place.
Waiting For the End
Sitting in this still despair,
breathing in the poisoned air
of sickened, life that crowds my mind.
Drowning in the misery pool,
this scared and solitary fool
can feel his sanity unwind.
With all my might I’ve tried to rise
above this world I now despise,
which carries too much pain to bear.
But every time I try to stand,
I’m beaten down by callous hands
and feel my spirit further tear.
If only I could really know-
just who’s to blame, who is the foe.
with fevered pain I’d meet the fight.
But there is no one who’s to blame
and no wild beast that I can tame,
just torment reaching out of sight.
And so, I feel my lifeline fray.
And freakish through the frozen gray,
I wait until my end is met.
An end I hope will come real soon,
to take me outside of this gloom
and lose this pain which stalks me yet.
Windswept Dreams
The day breaks cold and gray,
while dead leaves,
not having the sense to be still,
twirl undecided at my feet.
The empty street echoes
the silent pounding of my heart,
as sick with dreams
I mark the approach to your house.
Shivering with fire I reach your steps
and am frozen to the ground.
Burning with desire, freezing with fear-
I am caught between two worlds.
Transfixed with hunger
for a love I long to know,
my mind gives birth to dreams
it knows must die.
Such a cold, wind that stings my tears
as I feel my soul begin to bleed.
And reaching out my arms I catch the emptiness,
which I know must surely come,
because I cannot love you, even though I do.
And holding these dying dreams
I drink a final kiss of their passion.
Then turning amid the glaring dullness,
I walk away; mourning the dreams I left to die.
Knowing they were not the first
and will not be the last
of windswept dreams
that I left at your door.
Windy Hill
Upon the windy hill
I etched my frame,
where one could gaze,
if lifted head did search the height
upon the summit main.
And from this view
I pondered the strange,
where one would raze
a life, which wanted less of loss
to ward away its pain.
Above the windy hill
I flew my mind;
where one could see,
if mournful eyes did scan the grey,
of clouds it hid behind.
But on this site
I wondered the sign,
where one could free
a life, which wanted more of love,
to draw within its kind.
Beneath the windy hill.
Spirit Quest Garden 