There are two paths by which I could walk home. One diverts through the back entrance of a Golf Club, whilst the other takes me over a bridge through Sickle Avenue. Which one I choose is up to me. Or is it? This really depends upon the way you see things. Are you in control … Continue reading Two paths
Choices many – how to pick A road with fork that sparks a need Our sensibilities doth grow And make a flower from a seed Wisdom sheds the flower to solve Truth will shed a wrong To delineate an absolute And ruminate too long Who decides how long is long enough And who … Continue reading Choices
Regret and hope mean nought compared to now – for now I’ll stay in Epicurus’ Garden – to quench – to slake to cure as one grows old - to tarry for a good life here foretold.
Time flows through the afternoon In the shadows of the mind – Yet to control the effervescent life Secluded silence venting anger In the valley’s daunting hills Iridescent cloud replaced by thunder’s sky Lightning strikes – the trees shake (so do I) – Attention’s gaze diverts (life passes by) Leave be what’s … Continue reading the afternoon’s surmise
I stand above the solitudeOf life that brought me here I wonder whether time surpassedWill ever displace fear I run and jump for eptitudeAnd stumble as I wave I find a place to captivateAnd so I stop to save A feeling of a life to lureAnd languish in lent love By those who walk the … Continue reading Solitude
This life of ‘I’ is a life of ‘am’ and I cannot live gluten-free sweet embellishments when in your world and spring will help me pass the brood she waits with patience – lures longing too long I thought yet so rewarding that it would catch me in the race to fashion feeling’s mirrored face … Continue reading This life of I
what if the opposite is true what if we try something we think we can’t do what if sentiment blows the mind what if what’s hidden we finally find say hello to substance goodbye to void discard a play-thing no longer a toy rumble reason – quondam to know sweet sensibilities from long ago stumble … Continue reading what if a weep from a willow at will
Does a poem need a picturea tapestry of threadlayers of a fabricin your stead for what came before it – the tapestry of mindinterpret as it’s seenor as it’s read like a quilt – a coveringa line of stitching – all in sincdoes the poet rely on morethan merely what the pen may bring the web of inspiration … Continue reading Does a poem need a picture?
The tree-trunk brought him solace a place to rest his hand the man more Irish than his whiskey was not long for this land and his bayonet and musket – ingrained in him that day on the ground called Little Round Top lay with him, bleeding, as he’d say; we fight for that man Chamberlain … Continue reading The tree trunk brought him solace
The teacher, on the table, stood (to some a block), a plank of wood yet there stood a scribe with task to feed those beyond mere reasoning a calculated world we’re living in with textbook teachings of the past think, my friends – with majesty within you is the test to see dead … Continue reading dead poets