Things seems to be very clear,
When actually felt it is unclear,
What really seems to be clear,
May never ever be clear for ever.
Your help for others,
May be to be appreciated,
Or taken as what is called,
to be uncounted.
My question is clear,
Why the help for others,
Is sometime never appreciated,
However it is always delivered.
In response to ethics,
lingers in my mind the answer,
To help others is not to be recognised,
But it is to be called someone,
Who can be respected.
To all, continue to help,
Not to to be appreciated by others,
But to be respected by yourself.
A subject of sweetest softness
Cats can be loved too
Reflections of imperfections
have shown me a way
that I can move mountains
through my power of faith
even though I can't see him
I know he is real
through the power of prayer
and a Love that I feel
It's growing inside me
like a flower in bloom
shall I reveal my powers
or is it too soon
I am reading the signs
through my darkness I find
a reason for belief in
the light of mankind
that I know shall overcome
the greatest of odds
the Love I seek amazes me
especially through the flaws
because now I am inspired
through the hero's that bring
my throne through the darkness
on which I return on as your King.
Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?
Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.
And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.
I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep.
Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.
And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.
All around me
Great cities made of sand.
Green sky scrapers poke through the ground
To thrive in life’s strict conditions
And melt away with the tide…
Great houses made of cards
Form lines, and tightrope walk existence,
Knowing that any moment, the wrong brick may fall
And buckle our world to its knees
As Mother Earth shouts Jenga! from the sidelines.
So while were here
We dance with the Glass Goddess
Poised miles above reality,
Leaping over the heavens on our domino stilts-
We floor it in the sky
Living death in the fast lane,
Seizing the day
Because any moment
We could disappear
The butterfly flutters by—
It’s the symbol of our Company.
That logo’s on my bus so high,
Where clients ride so comfortably.
That noted fluttering butterfly
Is a noble Pacific Monarch;
You can sometimes see it cruising by
The Monterey Peninsula, light or dark.
You’ll see my bus parked by fine hotels,
Classy wineries, the Monterey Aquarium,
Beneath the Carmel Mission bells,
Or in Pebble for the A. T. and T. Pro-Am.
The butterfly flutters by—
And in case you didn’t know it,
The driver that waves as he flies by
Also happens to be this poet.*
*The driver has been working part time since 2007 for
Pacific Monarch Ltd., which is headquartered in Marina,
California. The buses are navy blue with a white butterfly
logo. The author has written many songs and poems
while waiting in his bus between runs.
I was going on a vacation with my family one day,
We thought we would head down Louisiana way.
It was great being with my wife and daughter,
Until I saw a black bird coming out of the water.
It struggled to get to the beach we were on,
When we looked again, it seemed to be gone.
But it was there, floundering on the beach,
Along with the fish, shrimp, and other birds just out of reach.
All of them were strewn on the beach so far,
Each was deathly sick, and blackened like tar.
The sand which I knew should have been pristine,
But the vision we saw was a totally different thing.
The waves that approached were black with goo,
Carrying more dead and dying creatures too.
"Can't we help them, Daddy?", my little girl said,
"Not now, dear, as most of them will be dead"!
"But why are they dying?", she said to me,
How could I explain about the oil from BP?
"There was an accident from an oil company's rig", said I,
My little girl looked at the animals and began to cry.
I tried to explain that man uses so much oil,
He has to drill in the earth, sometimes in underwater soil.
"Well then we need to stop it if the animals die!"
"I know", I said, "We just haven't tried".
"I will try harder to not use oil", she said,
"Especially if so many pretty creatures will end up dead!"
I held her close and wiped her tears,
Knowing full well that she was wise beyond her years.
"I'll try too", I said to her,
Not wanting to see this again occur.
So I've made a pact with myself to be,
Less OIL dependent so that others may see.
If I have to walk a little more than so be it,
It's better than having to watch the death of an Egret.
Pehaps we could all take a stance,
And with Big Oil, not take the chance.
For anytime man's greedy hand gets into the mix,
Then the environment is always in for a fix.
But we can change, adapt, and try to help out,
By being less dependent of Big Oil's clout.
We had to come home early because of the spill,
Like most people, we tasted that bitter pill.
So now on a crusade with my daughter I will go,
Trying hard to advise others and put them in the know.
Especially of what I have seen thru my little girl's eyes,
Those sickening deaths under clear blue skies.
I will do my best to get others to stop in their oily run,
Not only from BP, but Shell, Citgo, Marathon, and Exxon!
Building a House on Sand
By Elton Camp
Alabama has some frontage on the Gulf Coast
Where the risk of storm damage is the most
People with money will build right on the beach
Instead of where a hurricane isn’t likely to reach
Then for all of us, house insurance rates will rise
Because they have acted so foolishly unwise
We live way up north, a long way from the shore
But due to those dolts we are forced to pay more
I’d also enjoy having a beach and ocean front view
But don’t as it’s a totally irresponsible thing to do
On such construction there should be a total ban
Or else let insurance rates there rise as they can
Now, when a hurricane comes and blows them away
At our expense rebuild so it can happen another day
Life insurance to a skydiver might rightly be denied
To some houses, that same principle should be applied
Maybe for existing construction exception can be made
But building new houses on the sand should be forbade
A beach dweller reading this may scream and curse
I don’t care as I’m tired of your reaching into our purse