I saw a death shadow in the eyes of my infancy
a soft mercy with calm blue fancy,
in childhood, when free will asserted it's wild supremacy
we sang of star charriots and laughter loyal to hyperactivity,
I see a death shadow in the prime of my ascendancy
outlining my temple of truth, whistling thy words of wizardry,
I hear It like the madness of morning's ending,
I taste It as if from the burning breast milk of a Dragoness,
I see It in the bleeding smile of my heart's kindness,
I speak to It when love's luster unlocks the lunacy of loneliness,
I feel the humble shade of It's jade justice in a world hot and hustling,
My death shadow has a surface sweet with patient purpose,
It is not rough with forboding frost that frights the fight of flesh,
rattling the scythe of doom and cackling for cataleptic crisis it does not,
It is not a grim God or a greedy Goddess, no taxing terror trumpeted,
It has never been an angel of escape or a demon of dour delirium,
when suffering becomes a seduction of brute beauty I share in it's wise joy,
my death shadow follows the desperate yet disciplined form of my body battle
through life's plethora of coy poisons and possessive passions,
marching along side me with martial grace, sculpting my face with lion spirit -
On the border of the obscure wastelands,
In the depths of shadows and torments,
Far beyond the land of Never Was, Never Will
Is a place where I hold you, strong and silent…
As the shards of your sensitive sadness prevail,
Sifting the awaiting coals below,
I shall reflect slivers of your light upon the darkest woe!
I fight with the broken alliance within the dimmest coves,
I mean to pull you into Death’s demise
Where the pained poets prevail and the suns of justice arise
So that e’en the coldest of coals reach warmth!
Generating power so strong, that the gods step aside
As these diamonds-to-be burst into the light of day
Revealing your words of Always Was… and Always Will
The Black Diamond, once captive…finally free…though coal black still!
For Shadow Hamilton's Contest: Fighting Depression(poems for PD)
Lou Reed , Mistral of his time
so you walked this road on the wild side
unique in music , never selling out
believing in Art instead of commercialize
Lou Reed the musician never compromised ~
Sweet Jane not enough for our crowd of eccentric rockers
still will live forever with the many that left before you
one can imagine from John Lennon to Johnny Ramone
a party in Heaven of the finest rock bestowed
no text , no MTV when they pursued a dream
New York, hotel Chelsea an age of Renaissance
ragged jeans and leather jackets ,Art on stage
No, your Rock not ever fade away , it will stay sweet Jane forever ~
For the fine Man with words , ode to Lou Reed .
I woke up from the cradles of slumber
My morning eyes opened slowly
My mind frolicked and sang with peace
Remembering your words
So kind, so memorable were they!
So sweet, so genuine are you!
The mere thought of you takes away the assertive blue
It is a wonder I have come across your mind
It is a blessing like no other—a true, treasurable find!
And there are no words that can truly give you the honor you deserve
But take these, please!
And know there is so much more. . .
So much more that I wish to offer you
Your never-ending thoughtfulness and attention
Has filled me with unremitting appreciation
You really are a beautiful light to my world
Cheering my melancholy with joy
I have never found someone quite like you
And that is the beauty of it all
Finding the gold
The sunlight smiling for your marvelous shine
There is just no other like you!
I would never turn my eyes away
There is just no possible way
That is a blessing I count close to the heart
Finding you, such a rare piece!
Finding you in a churning world of excitement and chaos
Finding you with such delight and gratitude
Thank you so much, Duke!
Thank you for being you!
-Dedicated to a very fine poet named Duke Beaufort-
VIVA LA ELVIS
In Tupelo Mississippi, twin baby boys were born,
To Gladys and Vernon Presley, but sadly one passed on.
They named him Jesse Garon, their hearts so full of pain,
And then came Elvis Aaron, a breath of sweet refrain.
One heart beating for the two, their spirits intertwined;
To restore faith and hope and joy to dear ones left behind.
Elvis grew from babe to boy his heart set on a goal,
From boy to man to legend; The King of Rock n’ Roll.
He lived in humble dwellings, his Pa his Ma and he;
Playing his guitar, singing songs, pure golden melodies.
Country, Gospel, Blues and Jazz the rhythms of the soul,
And Rock n’ Roll, the very core of hearts both young and old.
While rising up to stardom, his pelvis did he swing;
Some church folk banged the gavel to crucify ‘The King’.
Their efforts came to nothing, as fans from near and far,
Surged on with huge momentum, to win that holy war.
So once again he stood there, gyrating at his will,
Until the day he heard a call that made those hips stand still.
Called to serve his country, the nation’s rising star,
And while along that journey, he sadly lost his Ma.
On the first of May, a bride’s bouquet, a blush of summer wine,
Elvis wed Priscilla; his beautiful fraulein.
Soaring in her lover’s arms on the wings of destiny,
Nine months later they were blessed with gorgeous Lisa Marie.
The happiness they shared together wrapped in melody;
Like a poet’s dream, a symphony, a lover’s rhapsody.
Then fate stepped in and dealt a blow that tore the dream apart,
And in its wake it left a trail of tears and broken hearts.
‘The King’, on stage and silver screen, he took the world by storm,
A real hunk of burning love in a GI uniform.
He rocked the house to loud applause, he played the matador,
And danced with pretty Hula girls in the Hawaiian sunset glow.
August 16, ’77 was the day ‘The King’ had died,
But forever lives the Legend, born on 8/1/35.
His mamma smiled and gently beckoned to her second born,
While holding close the one she’d lost that fateful winter’s morn.
The joy he brings to us down here can never be replaced,
Though many keep on trying in vain to fill the empty space.
His spirit fills all Graceland, to watch o’er kith and kin,
In the Heavenly sounds of Dixieland … I hear God joining in.
Copyright ©2009 Elaine Randolph
If I had to paint a picture of me loving God what would I see?
would I see a portrait of a person who walks in truth and honesty?
In order to paint a picture of me loving God
I would have to access all the experiences that to me life did impart
did I have a good relationship with my mom and my dad?
was it loving and supportive or distant and sad?
did I get along with my siblings? did we look out for each other?
did we play and love each other like true sisters and brothers?
were my needs being meet? did I ever learn to trust and believe?
am I balanced enough to cope according to the lessons in life I've received?
Multi-generational, familial or systemic social receptions
all of this has played a part in my life perceptions
we all have distortions in every aspect of our living
we now must deal with the reality at this time we've been given
was my life exactly as I remember? or are there things that I've repressed?
are there issues that are buried inside me that now make me depressed?
deep-seated anxiety, personal pain and high expectations
feelings of inadequacy, destructive criticism and bouts of frustration
we all have issues that we now need to bring out and discuss
in order to have authentic relationships we need to have real trust
we all have some brokenness that needs to be healed
so that our full love for the Lord God can one day be revealed
God is not distant like a CEO in the corporate tower
God is not pressuring us with His omnipotent power
God does not keep score He just watches over our souls
God is fair and just and doesn't set for us high goals
God is all embracing He nurtures, instructs and forgives
He's kind, patient and loving in this life to us He did give
So if I had to paint a picture of what it looks like for me to love God
it would be a colorful canvas of emotions, perceptions and reflections from my heart
She was afraid and all alone.
Her heart breaking
as it beat for only him.
She felt her life was empty
and lonely all around.
Sometimes she would sit and cry
for dreams that couldn't be found.
My best friend.
Someone I shared my thoughts with,
told secrets to,
even fought with.
Sweet little Missy.
Then one morning she was gone.
My heart froze in fear
and for her I would shed one last tear.
I'll never know why she left,
why she couldn't stay.
God grant me one more day.
Now she talks to angels
on her stairway to heaven.
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still burn
thine absence half a decade spent in vain
to break the bonds that tie, that fett’ring chain
that holds me from embracing thee, thyself in turn.
Thine all enchanting smile, piercing eyes–
thy flailing arms, the limbs, with rhythmic stroke –
responses soundless to the silent words I spoke
to thee before from thee Fate forced me from thy cries.
I watched thee grow through temp’rate times of yore –
remembering the gall’ry of my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
Oh, gentle child, how doth my heart still ache
thy presence all too far in distant land
where careless arms push thee with calloused hand
away from mine where once I swore thee none could take.
Thine eyes with tears I shared I shed alone
so thou might never feel the agony
the anguish, loss of my identity,
thy father, thee my offspring, daughter, dearest one.
I watched thee grow through chilling times, and more –
remembering thy portrait in my mind.
‘Twas all I had.
Oh, gentle child, how doth my soul yet yearn
those many hours oft upon my breast
thy head thou laid safe harbor for thy rest,
thy questions, mind alert, thy hungering to learn.
Thy voice I hear through dreams and zephyr breeze,
thou lark by morn by eve the nightingale,
as Dawn and Dusk, Aurora without fail,
thou hast my heart and soul kept warm with ease.
I watch thee grow, and will, forever more –
remembering thy sculpture in my mind.
‘Tis all I have.
Until we are as one renewed
some future date somewhere awaits
when thou her servant dare to flee
that which with thee so long accrued
where here I love and there she hates
that wily witch who bindeth thee.
Break loose those prison bars that bind
thy tired wings that flap in vain –
Renew thy pledge at length to find
thy youthful freedom once again.
Then shalt thy flags fly high aloft
while eagles scream thy freedom song,
while robins chirp with redbreast, soft –
all a capella – pure and long.
Then both our souls shall share their peace,
a father and his daughter, found
to spend their lives on borrowed lease
to live and die on hallowed ground.
Thus, take, Tai-Ana, this, my prayer
that fathers and their children hear
of this solemnity
that children here and everywhere
ne’er shed a sad though soulful tear
for all eternity.
I cling to the tangibility of paper
its connection to earth,
the feel of the grain
on the skin.
Words do not exist
thanks to the mashing
of keys and buttons, but by providence
of the paper.
The forgotten paper
is still alive. Soft
yellowed with age.
never erased. Never
I do not bleed red
cells but globules
of words, coagulated
phrases and lines.
The pen is a prosthesis,
where soft flesh leaves prints-
other swirled lines an whirls.
lightly brushes her lips
ever the timid lover.
Even when erased
the word is
forever imprinted, its curvatures
embedded in the soft
fiber of the page.
is an evil thing; coveting
its symbols and codes.
away your words,
behind an electric moon.
When the screen dies
so do your musings.
Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream
Over sixty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t remember all the Players’ names,
They’re my Heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a Coach’s call;
Visions of Glory must be dancing in their heads;
The Glory of the moment and our cheers, the Glory of playing for
the mighty Big Red.
And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were
known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my Hero too.
Like Soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
add to Big Red’s might.
I stand in awe of Sooner Magic. No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships without it.
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
glorified the name.
Sixty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my Heroes, Each and Every one, for win or lose…
They play the game.
It is such great unity
That appears amongst the beauty
Of the bright light display?
Such colour, such energy within celebration,
Such a vivid canvas of man-made creation
That sparks with flair and passion;
To fall into the fog
Like all dying illusions.
Yet it is what it does for us:
Where we are drawn from our furnishings
That we clean in intervals,
Closing outside to a regular schedule,
Remaining well lit and sheltered
Resting our minds so dimly upon the
Soft and empty cushions
And hugging at the blind comfort
We are drawn from this facade
By another in itself.
Which brings us out like a beacon
Part Devil, half Eden
To then fade away
Like all illusions,
Leaving us quiet,
Revealing deepened images.
Exposed to chill
Peace climbs through our bones.
Let us stand together,
The great power that connects us;
The great unity
Amongst such beauty.
Till we once more return home…
DARKNESS ONLY PREVAILS FOR A WHILE
BUT LIGHT EVENTUALLY PREVAILS FOREVER
THE REVENGE OF AN EMBITTERED WOMAN
IS MORE THAN THE FURY OF A THOUSAND ARMY
THERE ARE WOMEN OF SUBSTANCE
AND THERE ARE WOMEN OF SUPERLATIVE SUBSTANCE
IN SIZE WE GROW
IN WISDOM WE SURPASS
HE WHO CAN FLY
NEEDS NOT FLYING WHISKERS
FOR A SHORT WHILE ALONE
DOES INIQUITY REIGN
I AM MY HUSBANDS PILLAR
A SHELTER FOR MY CHILDREN
AN ENVY OF ALL NATION
A SYMBOL OF CREATION
AN ENDURER OF PAIN
THE PATIENT DOG IN HUMAN FORM
A MORTAL AMONG IMMORTALS
A VISION BEYOND THE PRESENT
I AM A VIRTUOUS WOMAN
A GREAT INSTRUMENT
A COMPLETION OF CREATIONS
MIGHTY IN MY OWN WAY.
You are simply a work of art.
I’ve known it from the very start,
But you won’t find me hittin’ on ya.
For I’m just an old guy
With a twinkle in his eye;
Happy just to gaze upon ya.
My old heart quickens it pace
Each time I see your pretty face,
A face that every man should see.
Sometimes, just for a while,
Each time I see you smile,
I imagine it's just for me.
And, when I hear your voice,
For just a moment, I rejoice.
Yes, it’s music to these old ears.
But more than a work of art,
You’re warm and funny and smart.
Simply a beautiful person, my dear.
Though with you I’m quite smitten,
My words are respectfully written;
And every word is true.
But, if I weren’t so old,
If I were better looking and a little bold,
I would simply say, “I love you.”
Everyone had a unique reason for playing the Game
as we find different means for surviving Life
until the proper seconds of Death come stomping by with insistence,
some want intellectual respect shown with agitation in the opponent's eyes,
others crave the anxiety of prognostication
like gladiators uncertain of how to strike,
people commence the battle because they have something to prove
as Bobby boldly reproved the Soviets
on their asinine assumptions of superiority,
regardless, all who touch the Board want desperately
to understand the Game,
it's rituals, it's spirits,
the possibilities alive & haunting the 64 squares,
to honestly provide a homage of mind to History and to invention,
as if the nature of Chess is a dream of God's,
a subconscious engineering of grappling wants & needs,
of fears & hopes, of bravado & caution,
32 weapons arranged handsomely for the express channeling
of the Divine creative compulsion of Providence itself,
geometry made grand & gallant,
a homicide of honor performed in the pressure of an hour,
all skilled players realise at some point
that quality brinksmanship ascends over the voice of victory
and can be reduced to the amazing beauty
of integrating logical processes with artistic allure,
misdirection a linchpin of the Master's ancient algebra,
momentum the indispensible monarch of strategy,
without it one is dictated,
mating nets, positional play, tactical moves,
a temple devoted to timeing -
these words of my heart
will neither come out of pity
nor will go down the wind
nor, again, will build any city.
But lend me your ears, baby,
and listen to what an old man
can say despite the rods of men.
Live up to your own ambitions.
Keep your heart alive
and your mind working
with honor and passion.
Take this over from my heart
that has suffered for so long.
There is always a good thing
to think of and to do
instead of fruitless tarrying.
Let not the cold world
affect you and do its worst.
there is always something
good to be done against it.
be careful of those people
who call themselves your friends,
your enemies are known.
They both have not become
what they have become
only because the mind, without
the heart, sees differences
and builds on them obstacles
to divide rather than unite.
They used, it is gone now, to be
your friends and the circle
the circle is open and far from full.
When the light and the sun rays
are leaving, remember to perceive
the natural attitude and substance
of daffodils and innocent flowers.
Hide your tears, baby, from men
and let them fall alone to freshen
the sight of your eyes and vision.
Open your inward eyes of Earth and Eden.
Be always on the move
and fear not the elements
of submission and contrition.
The light is coming in
and love is all around you.
Fear them no more.
Bring yourself to accept
your destiny and look at
the horizons of your heart
to improve your tools
and feel the power of patience
and reap the harvest of resistance.
So much depends on them,
so much depends on you.
Have time to work, son,
and have time to play.
Seek to be simple
and look up at
the sunny sphere
without a pair of glasses
Your eyes are for Earth and Eden
Keep them pure and undefeated.
But see !!
When the rain comes
as it will in autumn and spring,
summer and winter, son,
don't rush to get an umbrella
and cover your head like many
of them would do and would not.
You already have more than it
your smile can make it
and the flowers around you
will make it and come along
to live with you and teach you
how to be yourself and be
one sunny day, to your sons
and daughters, little son,
the father my father
has never been for me.
" L'amour a besoin des yeux, comme la pensée a besoin de la mémoire. "
Ode to my Love
Your immense black eyes, so cherished and dazzling
Your radiant toned skin that shines like daylight
Hands as soft as sheet of linen
And a childlike feet that is also soft and clean
His smile makes every each day complete
His sweet caress warmth my cold numb feeling
When you glance, it just melts me away
And when you stare I am stunned
Your soft voice that makes things unruffled
Your sweetness that run over
Heartbreak to pleasantry, sorrow to laughter
Makes every bitter moment better
The man who take same step as mine
Partaking every wonderful feeling
Selfless, Patience, and Loving
Oh how I love to love my love
She struts with a strategic lust
punishing hesitation with voluptuous thrust,
invading my chamber of fresh heart and hard part
certain for her meal of tender male from the start,
perfume from waving sea spreading broadly through this fantasy
skin textured fine with urge for pulsing vine, Goddess grins robustly,
she walks in rosebud red
stalks the songs and lips within this throbing head,
the call she croons to with curving tongue
door of desire widens to release a white river upon breasts divinely hung -
I just wanted to let you know
That I have this love for you...
Although I'm not fast to show
For you, there's nothing I wouldn't do
And I can't control this love
No matter what I try to do...
While I know our lives are separating
Which has got me pretty blue
I just want you to know
How much I love you...
Because I was blinded by shyness
And now my heart's feeling rugged
So this here's An Ode To My Beloved
Oh how I still see you every night in my mind
You're the best girl I feel I'll ever find
And when my eyes would fall upon your smile
My heart would be put on trial
And so if nothing else, I want to let you know
That I'll always love you, that my hearts beat
For you, won't ever slow...
Because I was blinded by shyness
And now my heart's feeling rugged
So this here's An Ode To My Beloved
So I wish you happiness beyond compare
And sorry for the times I couldn't help but stare
Caring, passionate, smart, and loving
From my heart, to you, I'll never be shoving
You will always be in my heart
No matter where we go, how far we drift apart...
Goodbye My Love...
O' heart, I wonder how
you can store
so many different
emotions of ours
in just thy four puny
while pumping away the
liquid of life
O' heart in you we
but side by side you
In you we find the
emotion of happiness
but side by side you
When you cease to beat
many plans you thwart
May God protect the
young human heart
And while some O' heart
you hold dear
some make you skip a
beat in fear!
O' heart but we find in
you as well
the bad bad emotion of
Such a potpourri of
emotions in you dwell
Help filter out any wrong
ones for me!
A mere four chambers
indeed but spacious are
whomsoever in the
world you may
But in the end forget not
atleast a single chamber
for its Creator, to
Learnt by the pang of fear
Oh Trojan horse thou art fair
So fearful and hard to near
Your presence!A dread even to air
Leading to an ancient unknown fence
Creating anguish in the ambience
Like a mad dog thou locate
Your way to doom or heaven's gate
Vigour in you aint got an end
For strong art thou till the end
Of world and world beyond thy tend
The"tail" I have to tell, starts off really sad.
My sweet doggie Murphy died and my heart, it hurt so bad.
Until one day in early spring, I got a call that made my heart sing!
There were some puppies born in Waco, the daddy -Jasper, and mommy- Juneau.
Four little boys, three little girls. But the picture of one boy, made my heart twirl!
So I waited for a week or two, to meet my little puppy-oh so new!
I named him Humphrey, such a handsome boy! He has brought laughter back and oh what a joy! He's super cute, and very smart. Many would say, he's a work of art!
He's learning new tricks, and how to potty outside. So many rules to learn and abide!
Humphrey is growing so quickly, the puppy breath will soon disappear. He will be an adult in less than a year! Every stage of his life is a blessing from above. I guess that's the true meaning of what we call "puppy love".
THE SIMPLE JOY OF ART
When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut grinding art--
Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands
explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart
To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands
mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores.
Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand
before the stone made man. Walking through the door,
drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze
imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more
of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days
yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade
but haunt delightedly like a nightlight in the darkness. What manner is there to praise
the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played
reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years,
Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed
suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears
David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong--
beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears.
Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong.
Perhaps it is the reason Heaven's blessed the world with Art
which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs--
Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop ©
Still... still I but aspire to serve your sight,
The measures of dark, streaming mystery,
With eyes deep as night and alive with light,
Your Beauty's as any through history,
An unspent spirit proved by your posture,
Your certain figure made sure, made slender,
Vision of you is like rough emery,
Straining, straining to capture your stature,
As ev'ry artist would hope to render
Such Beauty kept committed to memory.
You're owed no less than a sprawling estate,
To be adorned with pearls, diamonds, and gold,
Yet, as always, I'm impoverished of late,
Affording such precious little, all told;
I just might point out places where wood rots,
And I may, perhaps, soak you in spilled milk,
Since with my savings, best I can do's fall,
As there'd be no most luxurious spots,
I'd offer no furs, no cashmere, no silk,
Not much for the woman who has it all.
'Pon my soul you remain as coarse etches,
A brilliant scar, a shadowy tainting,
The endless subject of endless sketches,
A future masterpiece in oil painting,
The fearsomely delicate carved sculpture;
Of you I make my own melodic code,
As I do this, I do so in your name,
For you are a truly rare-formed rupture,
Bleeding slow, my own melancholic ode,
Writ share 'mongst these words of undying fame.
Like a thunder bolt
The words exploded in her head
She was confused in the noon
History deserted into noun and verbs
The sun came calling on her
The air screamed on her
The oceans wept bitterly
Our generations was at stake on her
Flaming down the guts she moved
Moon and grasses filed up in the street
Up up they journeyed in the black side
Abandoning the green side of the land
Mother Nigeria is fading away
In the hands of George Orwell pig
Shall the caused of animal kingdom be ours?
Salute to the ode of old
Be wary of the ghosts it leaves
The remnant and seeds of its wake
Salute to the whore of kings
Its corpse and stench reeks still
The wise and deep court still
Salute to the living dead
Frail but rears its head
With words than never bend
Salute, I say, Ode
For yonder when I die
In spite of the odium I hold
You’d still be lying there
I say, too much passion
in us poets, like a touch of a thou
saccharine taste invading our veins,
we cannot restrain,
we cannot condemned the only reason
for our being,
passion is what keeps us breathing,
passion can make us see it all
different than others,
not to cease, not to die
or give-up, passion grows in our soul,
it reminds us it is there
every minute of our day,
when we need to count the hours
to get to him/her.
Passion is the sedative to our worst day.
The essential of reason,
the way to a path,
to rivers and streams that find our dreams,
passion is a vessel making a net
reaching our heart our souls
keeping the beat louder and quieter in waves
frequencies, passion is vigor,
is a sparkle in our heart that continually
beats violently and has no outcome.
Passion is un corazon de Oro.
Little stepping stones
take you towards the
truth in my heart. Some
you doubt you can make
yet these are deliberate.
Eventually something truly
wonderful will be revealed.
In time you will feel liberated.
Every heart aches once in a
while, be patient put aside
your frustration. The stepping
stones to my heart will not set
us apart. Instead we will be
joined together like birds of a
An Ode To William
He when Painted,
Printed or Wrote,
His face always wore
a grave grin.
THAT Soft in heart
The sculptor, stones
had ever seen;
Sitting by the lonely-
For me his shop
would have been,
For Pope, Dryden’s
Loved who little-
boys, herders and
And praised country
and for lambs prayed.
An artist lived there
Unnoticed, ahead of
To see or not to see, past the illusion.
Of truth secretly whispered back and forth,
Shakespeare publicly fought between life and death
for pure amusement.
Within my thoughts, hope's not lost but found,
don't fight with fear use it.
Time endlessly is precious when our soul starts to lose grip.
Loose lips, wondering eyes, curious minds
in search of the light.
Collide in a beautiful place
where I am nothing
connected to everything
real matter cannot be erased.
Loveliness that's deep and that's rare
is like a rose that blooms afresh
(like the rosebud that's new and fair);
lovely in aspect and in flesh,
it lives in sunlight without care
letting all the sky breathe and mesh.
Its loveliness is hard to find
unspoiled and as innocent;
and with its tint and with its rind
it quells my musing discontent.
As it sighs (softly and from behind),
my nose takes in its lovely scent.
Its beauty transcends its locus,
imbuing the eyes of my soul
with romantic, ideal focus
that makes the heart and the mind whole:
without it the world seems callous
and grace would not be in control.