Tag: Poetry

Watching The Sunrise

Simple really.

Nothing complicated

about watching its spectacular

image rising

over the horizon.

Makes you wonder

for a moment,

just a thought,

how small we really are,

and how magical

is the sunlight on a summer’s day.

Watching the stars overnight

and falling asleep in the sky,

a peek of morning sunshine,

lights up the world around us,

any chill turns warm,

like a thermostat in the house.

Yet this is real,

this energy,

this orb before our very eyes

lights up our world.

When I Was Alone

I used to cry a lot,

the tears readily

descending my cheeks.

If I let myself go

the sobbing was

rather spectacular,

to tell a tale.

When I was alone,

I would stare out windows

count the slats

in my blinds,

waiting for the sunlight,

and then watching the light

descend into another night,

while the tears might remain.

While alone

my mind would stir,

I’d imagine all those scary

things that haunt our mind,

when left alone,

our own devices,

no longer working

in the manner we might wish.

When traveling alone

I remember seeing the world

with my eyes

naked to the world around me.

I would have to stand up

without assistance,

make sure no one around

saw my life unsteady.

Instead I would wish

the many faces nearby

would see a man

with a settled heart

and a yearning soul.

As A Little Boy

He would play with rocks

different shapes and sizes

some skippers,

others too bulky,

heavy ones

and little pebbles.

He’d release them in water,

watching them float

making waves to help them

move along the clear floor,

the rocks were everywhere,

and he could play for hours

forgetting everything around,

only he and the wet sands

with rocky shorelines,

and summer vistas.

As a little boy,

he might only remember

these things,

the moments by the beach

where rocks everywhere

represented his own

quiet and safe world.

When a little boy,

he thinks little

of the consequence

of having to experience loss.

His world is in front of him,

waves play with his rocks,

he can choose his skippers

or the ones he lugs

with all his might

to make a big splash.

As a little boy,

he wanted somehow,

someway in the summertime,

to make a big splash.

Early Hours

A starlit horizon

eyes awake

thoughts for miles

already torn


not only the day ahead

hours turn into

new life, new eyes.

Wonder of beauty

soft and supple

this newborn philosophy

needs nurturing

hands to guide

such is a

birthing soul.

What will she love

when bringing joy

into the hearts

of all who hold

her humble beginnings.

Three Years Later

I still want to figure it out

even when it doesn’t matter,

I think about those days,

all the different ways

we did live our lives,

we did hide our sorrows.

I think about the time now,

the what ifs

the why nots

the constant barrage

of never knowing how.

We live a certain way

in our society,

the ability to walk away

is sometimes easier than sticking around

then there’s that missing part,

that missing what we never want to return.

Many Stories

I don’t know which one

to tell, to elaborate upon.

I have all these moments

call them experiences

all with a common

denominator, a sameness

that I can think about

that I can’t think about.

I have all these stories

they are the mold of my life,

every little bit of strife,

every time I feel fascinated

I find some way to reduce

the harmony of my passion.

When I was a younger man,

the story had just began

of a young boy in crisis

he’d lost a lot in his short life.

He knew people grew tired

he was fatigued himself

figured it was only normal,

lived that way every day.

He wondered when the day

would arrive he might look away.

A Wandering Mind

Here in the moment

greatest fears revealed,

the body stunned

almost motionless

frozen in time.

Seems a thought

brought this fury

in the mind.

Seems everything mattered

when suddenly

no recourse

is available

only the pit in the stomach

that quiet

monster of pain.

Second guess ourselves

now, again, always

a wandering soul

lost searching

a lasting memory

forbidden fears,

always that scrutiny

steals peace of mind.

Seems stability

takes a sabbatical.

Shadows And Dreams

There are places

we remember

they hold promise

to our dreams

Faces we remember,

constant in our dreams.

If only all the shadows

might speak

might come alive

when then

when how could we forget

the shadows and the faces.

We might feel pain

yet there is always

the afterward

when given pause

when thoughts alive

we find a peace

we have a need to remind

ourselves how soon we forgot,

what once made us happy,

now leaves us wanting.

In our shadows and dreams

we can visit each other

it seems.

Our faces are clear

stepping into the sunlight.

Silent Recluse

I wish I could

just disappear

seems so likely,

yet I can’t really find a way,

keep wanting to come back,

don’t even take the time,

to really unwind,

such a tight grip

on my state of mind.

Hide me in the light

and I’ll walk away,

put me in the shadows

and life remains the same.

I’m a silent recluse

no one gets in my head,

I’ll tell you anyway

if you’re willing

to listen to

anything at all.

I have to find this hideaway

can’t be so transparent

let you know how I really feel

let you know about my tears.

I’m in my silent recluse

keeps life still needing use.

Writing A Song

If words might describe

a state of mind,

put them to melody,

listen to them sing.

Seems the world

revolves around that same tune,

all the time,

all the wise emotions.

Carry the word,

find the right rhythm

make a fortune,

or simply please someone.

I’m writing a song,

and I want you to listen

seems everything I believe

will be in the words I write to you.

Wish it were so simple,

to coin a phrase, make it last for days,

that feeling,

an emotional journey in phrase.

I’d love to listen to you sing,

if the words really meant that much to you.