THOUGHTFUL THOUGHT

Would things have really been so different
Would the world really have been so shaken
If when I were a much younger man
I had chosen the road not taken

Would the days have been any the brighter
Or the nights darker than they are
Would I still have lived in such obscurity
Or shined brighter than any star

It does little good to wonder
Of things that might have been
For who, and what I have become
I must live with in the end

Though life could have been much better
All in all I do not feel forsaken
I count the blessings that I have
And cry not of the road not taken

BACK SPACES

Gazing out my window
I thought of yesterdays
The faces and the gestures
And how the laughter fades

Wondered if you're happy
Or if you found your way
From long nights in November
And the promise that we made

JUST MY MOTHER

Did she have stories never told?
One's she lived so long ago?
Would I have listened if she did?
She was my mom and me a kid.

Just my mother, not really real,
is this the way, of her, I feel?
Did she love, did she cry?
Was there a time I asked her why?

Mothers, they are always there,
too many times we aren't aware,
that they are people just like us,
to remember that would be a plus.

I sat to listen of memories of old
as my mother talked of long ago.
She spoke of Daddy and his faults
and of dancing to the Tennessee Waltz.

We laughed and cried, just two gals,
not mother and daughter, just two pals.
She was just my mother so I didn't know
that she had actually lived so long ago.

WHO'STO SAY?

The knife cuts deeply to the core
The spirit bleeds forever more
A pain to last a whole life long
But who's to say if this is wrong

We loved beside a diamond bay
That flashed the sun in bright of day
And glittered in the starry night
But who's to say that it was right

Dark shadows danced around the two
Not wanting joy for me and you
I'll never know until this day
Just what went wrong, but who's to say

Unhappiness would be my fate
But wisdom always comes too late
I look at life as one big stage
The eye more sensitive with age

I watch the drama now unfold
The truth upon the stage is told
I laughed and cried but I was strong
And who's to say that I was wrong

Perhaps the love I lost in youth
Was never meant to be, in truth
It seems that love can cloud our sight
But who's to say that I am right

If I were meant to live again
The same beginning to the end
I'd tread my footsteps all along
And who's to say if I am wrong

WOULD YOU LOVE ME LESS

Would you love me less intensely if my thoughts were less profound
As a pigeon's passive waddle to the tidbits scattered round
Never wondering nor dreaming, never questioning belief
Pecking contemplation's morsels thrown by others at my feet

Would you love me with less passion if the twilight didn't creep
To the inner most contentment of my heart before I sleep
If the fluttering of feathers swooping down to nighttime perch
Didn't incite a song of glory from my soul at nature's worth

Would your eyes be less inclined to notice little things I do
If I didn't stoop to see the world from a child's point of view
If the innocence of little ones didn't touch me every time
That a child gazed in honesty into these eyes of mine

Would your love be less exiting if I didn't share my dreams
That are floating in the current of imagination's streams
If I didn't open up the fragile door that leads to me
In the songs and dreams and thoughts that drift within my poetry

All these questions posed in haste within a moment's happiness
And among the sound of laughter comes the little answer, "Yes"

TWISTS AND TURNS

You have to have luck
With a mile more to go
A crooked road
It's a vicious circle.

A heart of gold
Bears silent witness
To the kindness trait
Of being a good observer.

Your enchanted eyewitness
Do you know what I mean?
Invitation to contraction
Of the life lived sweet and fragile.

I'm in your corner
Read between the lines
Go forth and forward
To where beauty lies.

PASSING THROUGH

So many times I think of death
And see how many fear,
But for me it's just a journey
With heaven drawing near.

When I close my eyes at night
And in my sleep, time passes by;
I think of death as just that way
With life in dreams when I die.

Though in life, I always wake,
In death I will wake too,
But it will be another world;
The one I pass into.

A world where no more tears are shed
Nor goodbyes are ever said;
With my loved ones I will stay
And never more get out of bed.

INKWELL OF THE HEART

From the content of the heart;
The written word is penned,
But without an inner sight;
Is hard to comprehend.

You look amazed at words in ink
And ponder on them, the source;
Was it the mind from whence they came
Or from the heart, that caused remorse.

Is it truly filled with light,
In the way you've come to see,
Or does the content of your heart
Provide the ink that flows from thee.

Muddy dark that tends to smear
Or calligraphy with beauty seen;
Words that lift and soothe the soul
Or ones that drag and thus demean.

From the inkwell of the heart,
The pen will draw from in
And place upon the paper white
Those things that lie within.

POET'S SOUL

Words flowing from within the heart
To compose a poetic thought,
Letting the muse control the pen.
The soul flooded with images it wrought,

From within the heart come the words
Helping to heal a wounded soul.
Driving deep into the core
To let the one in pain know

No one needs to walk alone
With burdens too heavy to bear.
The poet with reassuring verse
Sends healing words of care

Reaching out to the one in pain
Helping the heart to mend,
Reassuring them not to despair.
For within the verse they find a friend

What is it that affirms a Poet's Soul?
The listener connects with what they heard
As if the poet wrote the verse for them
And the healing begins within the word.

MORNING AND EVENING

The day starts fresh in the morning,
the birds start twittering.
Darkness is dispelled by light,
and loses the uneven fight.

Traffic starts getting heavier,
roads get busier and busier.
To school do children go,
by buses and by auto.

Mid-day sees the blazing sun,
and we can have no fun.
Evening sees the children home,
doing home work and watching T.V. some.

The setting sun turns orange in color,
and the birds go to their arbour.
Bats and cats go hunting,
but people turn to praying.

CHANGE

An addiction to learning
Developed daily by imitation
Opens the door to empathy
And the capacity to love.

The power of consciousness
Allowing the option of self-renewal
Extension of the senses in turn
Sharpens the mind.

The goal of positive action
Coupled to implementation
Creates positive self-expression
And to the inevitable social evolution.

INSANITY

She's nuts, tis true,
Of this we know,
We read her writes;
A true psycho.

But of life
In rhyme, she spins;
Is there not truth
That's found within?

Because we see
Some colored black,
Does that prove,
She's out of whack?

Thus we call a poet so
Who writes of things
Deep in the soul;
Beyond our reasonings.

STATE OF MIND

Severe sensory isolation
The need to reach out
Fear of sleep
The night terrors and nightmares
Walking the streets
Until the crack of dawn.

The growing awareness
Meditation the door to states desirable
Will to change
Always the key inside you
The mental serenity
Comes with peace of mind.

YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL

Things aren't really
as bad as they seem
Listen to me,
I'm your self-esteem

You're not really ugly
and you're not over weight
Think of your good points
your complexion is great!

You have a great sense of humor
and are as smart as can be
Who cares if you don't
wear a perfect size 3

You're thoughtful and caring
your actions will show
The heart is full of love,
that I already know

Don't listen to those
who throw insults your way
just smile and nod
and think of this day

I'm saying it now,
and I'll say it again
how you look dosen't matter
True beauty lies within

POET

Pour out your heart
oh poet, in a poem
Of far away places
let your mind roam
for just beyond
what the eye can see
someone will be waiting
there for thee
Someone you have known
forever in your mind
Somewhere in a dream
true love you find
They are more than words
from emotions spent
they are more than words
from a letter, not sent
Of heart, of soul
of tear stained words
the poet writes
that his voice may be heard
So pour out your heart
oh poet, in a poem
let the world see love
let your heart be known

HOW OLD MY SOUL?

Beyond this realm, I seem to see
And reach to touch forgotten years.
How old my soul, it seems to be,
As if it lived in other spheres.

Fragments seep beyond the veil;
Forgotten wisdom of long ago.
Like a candle with a far off flame;
I seem to see it faintly glow.

Old music connects within my heart
As if it were a part of me.
Is it my soul, the words remembered,
That draws me to its melody?

What in the past that keeps it sad;
In this melancholy state of malaise.
This state of sorrow that seems to linger;
Upon the soul so heavily weighs.

NOT A LAUGHING MATTER

Internal stresses and conflicts
Painful internal affliction
Sometimes it hurts
To anticipate the second movement.

Duress with regularity
Endless cycle of pain and tension
Eliminate the misconceptions
Dissipate the tortured fears.

Persistent exercise and diet
The rigors of strain
Ease up slowly on retention
Eventually all things must pass..

UNIVERSE FOR THE TAKING

Consideration of the space curve
Singularities from mathematical collections
Mean curvature of residual space
Come and travel with me through time.

A golden elegance
To universal dimensions
A curvature of
Manifold directions and encounters.

Angry objections
Without foundation
Fantastic energies of trans-light travel
I am in awe of my Creator.

The function of a civilization
Is to realize that the universe
Was made for more questions than answers
Enjoy the mystical vertigo of experiences unforeseen.

RENTED SPACE

I rented space within my head
And soon I found no vacancy.
Others' clutter stored up there,
Leaving now no room for me.

Should it be that I evict;
Would I find now disrepair?
Is the damage caused up there,
Only room for now despair?

Too many years of renting space;
Controlling now the mind that's left;
No longer mine to do as will
But it was I who allowed the theft.

The cost was mine and I to pay;
Investment without dividend.
I gave to others too much room;
A price that proved too much to spend.

LOSING BATTLE

The weeds reach out to grasp the life
Of every pretty planted thing
And everywhere, the leaves have blown;
Their freedom to roam, forever blowing.

The house needs paint and much repair
But where is the desire to labor there.
For once again the leaves will blow
And painted surfaces again show wear.

I see another gray hair has surfaced
And body parts are breaking down.
Put on another coat of paint
And turn that hair a shade of brown.

The years have brought their wear and tear
As ruts are carved throughout my face.
I run in vain to escape the years
But like the leaves, it wins the race.

I pull the gray hairs and the weeds
But oh such fatal works of folly.
For all my efforts are for naught;
Pretty flowers now debris.

BALANCE

God gave fragrance to the flowers
And a song for the birds to sing
So even those without sight
Could see the beauty that they bring.

But I can't help but wonder,
At the thorn he placed upon the rose
And why, suppose, he made the weed
Or inspired a poet to write in prose.

Was it, for us, a lesson shown
That life brings the bitter with the sweet.
And for the poet, compassion given,
That allows his pen to paper meet.

When a summer storm has passed,
And the sun comes out to shine,
I look to see the sky reveal
A rainbow adorning so divine.

May I never grow so blind
That my blessings I fail to see
Nor my ears grow so deaf
That I don't hear what he says to me.

So when the thorns begin to sting,
Upon the rose I'll place my sight
And when the darkness in me creeps,
Upon his face I'll see the light.

TRANQUIL IS MY SOUL

The hush of early morning
before the dawn breaks through
The murmuring of the sleeping earth
covered by the morning dew
In the mist
the luminous ghost of yesterday
fades into a memory
Tranquil is my soul in sleep
as golden rays of light
move silently, through every dark, and secret place
Chiming bells, from a church near by
Sounds of song birds, in tree tops high
The rustle of leaves, moved by the wind
I listen, to nature's melody
As a cool breeze, chilled by the night
caresses my cheeks
I rejoice in the splendor
as morning comes to life.

I'd be delighted if you'd sign my guestbook.