Best Look Out On Poems
I stand by the water, a bottle in my hand.
The spirits help me face another day.
Think about my wife and kids and do not understand,
How I walked out and threw it all away.
Look out on still waters, tears fall from my eyes.
Drifting through the promises I made.
Promises that float away on dark and clouded skies.
When the wind whispers, the devil must be paid.
But now and then there's laughter in my memories.
Little voices shouting, daddy I love you.
Tears that fall for happy, prayers on bended knees.
Life flowed like a river, dreams did come true.
CHORUS
Lord, help me get back on the road to happiness.
Safe into adoring arms and loving sweet caress.
I need you Lord to guide me, You're my only friend.
Help me Lord, please help me, find my way back home again.
I can't remember when, it started to go wrong.
But, somehow I just lost the will to live.
The shadows and the darkness summoned me to come along.
And gave me life with nothing left to give.
I'm walking on a tightrope, my heart is on the brink.
My strength is gone, there's nowhere left to fall.
The bottle gives me nothing but the need for one more drink.
God I pray that you can hear me call.
Cause now and then there's laughter in my memories.
Little voices shouting, daddy I love you.
Tears that fall for happy, prayers on bended knees.
Life flowed like a river, dreams did come true.
CHORUS
Lord, help me get back on the road to happiness.
Safe into adoring arms and loving sweet caress.
I need you Lord to guide me, You're my only friend.
Help me Lord, please help me, find my way back home again.
My door is open
I welcome you
To my Highland lands
Off heathers and hue
Cross the bridge
Of centuries old
To my castle of grey
In it's regal fold
Stand with me
In the great hall of my past
Like generations
Us Fraser's will last
Climb spiral stairs
To a turreted tower
Look out on my lands
As the northern lights shower
Turn to the left
Look out to the fields
They stretch for miles
Many harvests they yield
The moat leads off
Into a river so pure
With it's salmon ladder
Caught to mature
Lets take to the horses
To forests of pine
They carpet the glens
In greenery fine
Centuries old
Camp fire and cheer
Weeks away
Chasing the deer
The welcome we received
When we reached home
Venison and pheasant
From our Highland roam
Off the great hall
To the room of the past
Where tartans and paintings
My ancestral past
Open great fireplace
Lights up the room
Claymores and armour
In past battles bloom
The evening draws
Arrival of guests
To feast on the roam
For the food we are blessed
Midnight approaches
Bedtime retire for all
As i look out my window
In awe at it all
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
Salt tears drip from leaves,
to land on tea-colored pages.
Hopes and dreams,
written in the ink of history,
slowly blur and drip
into the underworld of the
abandoned and long forgotten.
Salt waters of the ocean
and tumbling waves turn
stones and pebbles to sand,
erasing familiar shapes
and throwing up barriers
to once precious memories.
Dimming eyes look out on
unfamiliar landscapes of a mind
inching inexorably into
a vast emptiness that steals
learned behaviors, abilities,
and the past, leaving nothing.
The empty eyes wander
but do not understand, for
the spirit that occupied this frame
has broken earthly chains.
It now soars free, no longer captive
to expectations and this mortal life.
6. Matsukaze
("Noh" is an ancient Japanese style of
drama, broadly similar to Elizabethan
tragedy. "The Wind in the Pines" is
my version of a well-known Noh play.)
Despite
the vigil I kept, night on night ...
despite
my spring purification rite ...
paper streamers like fronds of willow,
tears soaking into my pillow,
you did not come.
Madness touched me.
Like the spume of a wave
that boils and fizzes,
in my pain I raved.
Love returns like the ruthless tide,
like the air perspires in the hot night,
and leaves beads of water on morning grass
to mark its sweating.
The agonies pass,
but there's no forgetting.
Waiting at the gazing tree,
I look out on the restless sea ...
is that he? Coming to me?
Cut the succulent leaf of aloe vera,
and it weeps clear healing tears.
I am restored. Here's Yukihira.
See how his ship skips as it nears!
I deceive myself.
Am I blind?
It was the wind,
teasing a pine.
Exquisite, his calligraphy.
He painted a poem, just for me.
"Now I have gone.
Left you behind.
But if you pine,
I'll come at a run."
I am nothing now. I am a sad pine,
doubled over by prevailing winds.
Like salt, I dissolve in the brine.
Nature's madness, love, is a storm,
but it can't last. The sky grows warm
with purple streaks, braided on magenta.
I am held fast, because I have sinned.
Where I go now, none may enter.
Autumn rain will come. Mark the signs.
And listen for the wind, sighing in the pines.
Ordinary Precious Stones
Buddha saw it first
but as is his way never let me in on it.
The stones, rough, unfinished,
ill sized tribute to chaos, beckoned.
I closed my eyes
It started to take shape in the mist.
Each stone should have its place
separate yet dependent on the others.
They should not attract attention for themselves
but become a part of a greater beauty.
I touched each stone, listened to its passion,
rolled it, positioned it so the sun would
augment its finest facets. Allowing them time
to adjust, to relate themselves one to another.
When each stone hummed in wind coaxed OMMMMM
I rested, placed the Buddha in the midst
of these, now precious, stones.
Each morning I look out on the Buddha
in the midst of his rock garden, see the
sun creep over his shoulder glancing off
the facets of those most ordinary
precious stones.
Submitted to – Precious Stones and Gems – Poetry contest
Sponsor – Anthony Slausen
11/14/2014
Yearly - for a spell - I come calling,
not unexpected.
But there are times my travel may be slow.
On such rare occasions when I’m late,
you’ll look and see the mountains’ crowns
remain uncovered,
and in the valley, meadow grasses
dance with gentle breezes,
reveling in verdancy prolonged.
Other times, I roll across the prairie bellowing.
Assassin of startled vegetation,
I wield a force God-given,
and even dry terrain, where soil is sand,
might feel the touch of my icy hand.
And though I be unwelcome,
I’m certain there’s a moment
you look out on a pristine field
where I have softly laid my eider down
or to a street now silenced
that strangely gleams in peaceful white.
Or maybe you gaze up at stately mountains’
lovely snow-capped crowns,
and in that tranquil moment,
you are awed.
For John Freeman's "the Pictures of winter Poetry Contest"
I awake to the sound of birds chatter.
I know a new day has begun.
I draw back the curtains,
Look out on the world
And joyfully welcome the sun.
The majestic trees are gently swaying
As the wind softly rustles through.
All of the Earth is ablaze
With the colours of summer.
And the sky is a picturesque hue.
I drink in all this beauty of creation
That is there in attendance for me;
And I greet the day
With my heart in tune
With nature’s symphony.
I'm flying so high
I don't remember why
I was ever on the ground
And you know, it doesn't matter anyhow
Because we're all circling around the sun
And he's having himself so much fun
Exploding in warmth
Exploding warm
Look out on all those stars
They seem so very far
But you know, they're just waiting
for you to see them
Because after all, they're shining in your eyes
You've got starlight in your eyes
You've got the sun in your hearts
What more, how far
What more, tell me how far
I'm glad to wake up everyday
And I've got some thanks I want to say
Because I know
We're all part of this life
And we are living ours so alive
With a chant upon your lips
You sail on like a great big ship
That is powered by the winds of change
And you are never the same
Now go one and look at all those stars
they only seem so very far
Because you know they're waiting for you to see them
After all they are shining in your eyes
You've got starlight in your eyes
You've got the sun deep and warm in your hearts
What more, how far
What more and how far
I'm flying so high
I don't ever want to leave this sky
I can see forever
And I swear to you it gets better
You've go starlight shining in your eyes
You've got the sun deep and warm in your hearts
What more, How far
What more, tell me how far!
Christmas time has come and gone,
T'was all we hoped t'would be.
I sit here musing by the fire,
As the wind blows through the eaves.
I dream of lazy summer days,
And fields of wild flowers;
Babbling brooks and hidden nooks,
Taking shelter from the showers.
I dream of cool yet balmy nights,
Spent in the garden swing,
Listening to the night sounds,
And loving everything.
The fire flies that flit about,
In and out of foliage,
Moistened by the evening dew,
As they make their evening voyage.
I long for summer evenings,
But for now I'm satisfied,
To look out on snowy meadows,
And the pristine country side.
O Lord our God you are holy
who can we turn to but you
for you created all things
all power is in your hand to do
We look out on our sorry world
getting worse steadily seems forever
sinful man continues always to sin
for lost mankind thinks they're clever
O Lord come and save us again
as you did continually in Bible times
show this world you're it's only hope
their sins continue full of crimes
O Lord our God you paid the price
on Calvary's cross there you died
taking our sins upon yourself
paid our salvation can't be denied
Come now Lord and daily intervene
this pandemic should waken us up
your word is our remedy to act upon
be merciful Lord put grace in our cup
The day of judgement surely is near
then you'll give no second chance
blessed indeed be your holy name
make it live as our living flame
(This is a prayer to our God at this present time concerning our present world situation and the need to pray for God's intervention.)
Watching a sunset the other night accompanied by a cool Atlantic breeze
I remembered something my granddaughter once said…
and I got down on my knees.
We were also watching a sunset when I heard, “PopPop pick me up.”
her reasoning was clear
“I want to see what you see…everything looks different from down here.”
I guess I hadn’t thought much about it ’til then…
I wasn’t as introspective
but she was right…
so much of how we see life has to do with our perspective…
When we look out on the world what we see is the sum
of who we are, of what we know…and where we’re looking from.
Our shared view of that sunset was different for her than it was for me
mine was colored by age, experience and time…
hers was more innocent and free.
When I picked her up, here eyes widened and she whispered in my ear,
“I can’t believe how beautiful the sun looks from up here”.
And I whispered back, “I only hope from wherever you may stand
as you grow up, your view of the world, will always be this grand”.
And as for me I hope that childhood innocence is something I’ll never lose…
as I try to experience what the world looks like from a myriad of views
.
Which is why when I stand watching a sunset these days…
in the cool of an evening breeze
and I remember something my granddaughter said…
I get down on my knees
Starless night, a fire ahead
upon a wind sheltered hill.
Drizzling rain and steamy breath,
I feel the yearning for you.
Lighted by the flickering shine
you seem to be nameless to me.
But your words, your versant vein
recall the charm of the past.
Like a swallow in fall,
untamed and wild,
you’ve vanished silently.
Your cold, weary eyes
have lost their bright glow
of periods elapsed too fast.
Love of life, my friend, come back to me,
spread your wings and carry me home.
To consoling shores, and healing refuges,
till my heaven's starry again.
Wandering through a twisted maze
in search of where I belong.
Deep beneath the outer coat
I’m all confounded and lost.
I may count the stars by night,
but they don't look out on me.
I may walk a million miles,
but life is not coming forth.
Like a swallow in fall,
untamed and wild,
you’ve vanished silently.
Your tedious glance,
your meaningless look
are saddening me deep inside.
Love of life, my friend, come back to me,
spread your wings and lead me along.
To uncharted soils, beyond cumbering bounds,
till my heaven's starry again.
By and by my life
got a dreary taste.
Childlike magic disappeared
and sternness began.
Elusive confidence,
blissful ignorance,
peaceful mindlessness,
defeated and buried in pain.
I couldn’t resist
Love of life, my friend, come back to me,
spread your wings and teach me to fly.
To salvation’s dawn, beyond crumbling walls,
till my heaven's starry again.
The following is a tribute to Vincent Van Gogh, the amazing artist who died of his own hand in 1890. He died, tragically alone, and in obvious pain, unrecognized and unappreciated by the people of his day. But, in 1972, a talented young recording artist, Don Mclean, wrote and recorded a beautiful and stirring tribute to the artist, Vincent. The following are the lyrics to the song, featured on the American Pie album. I hope you will appreciate not only the sentiment so beautifully expressed, but the marvelous imagery and flawless poetry. It moves me; I hope it will likewise move you. And now, Vincent:
Starry, starry night,
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand, what you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night,
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue,
Morning fields of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I understand,
What you tired to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen, they did not know how,
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you,
Though your love was true,
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life as lovers often do,
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night,
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless heads on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken in the virgin snow.
Now I think I know,
What you tried to say to me,
And how you suffered for your sanity,
And how you tried to set them free--
They would not listen,
They're not listening still...
Perhaps they never will.
~M
Spring is on the distant horizon, another month has gone, now just a memory
Seasons flow seamlessly, path's of time seem faster, now in my golden years
The month of March is vigorous and piping, the month of new life in nature,
The coldness of our winter very gently fades, birds sing high in the trees,
But beware of gales as they rush through our woods, over meadows and glades.
The wild wrath of winter eases, March winds are fast, chasing the cold away,
Branches bend and groan, dead wood falls, ruining thatches and old buildings,
The wind bites but wild flowers spring from black soil in meadows and glades,
Measure the difference of the solemn fitfulness's of autumn, and March winds
As People gingerly look out on mild days time to begin work in their gardens.
The last days of February sees the frost less severe, the slushy snow melting,
All in keeping with ancient character the month is wet from thaw and dampness,
A time for floods as snows melt, rain and sleet pours, this is our wet season,
There is movement in the woods, leas and the forests nature starts to wake up,
Now as sap is stirring in trees, buds begin to show green on bushes and boughs.
At Standing Rock, an elder stands
Alone against an angry sky—
A patch of white beneath the storm,
That seeks to swallow him alive
His eyes look out on Turtle Island—
The sacred ground that he calls home:
An ancient place unspoiled by greed,
Untainted by machines and smoke
And as he stands against the world,
I wonder if he feels the weight
Of all of history bearing down,
Wave after terrible, endless wave
I wonder if he thinks about
The stolen land that once was his;
Of traditions now forever lost
In old forgotten languages
I wonder if he calls to mind
The Trail of Tears or Wounded Knee,
As he becomes invisible—
A costume worn on Halloween
I wonder if he laughs or cries
To see the ghosts of treaties past,
Revived by greed, and blood, and fear,
Returning for the table scraps.