Building a Bridge
Where human heart is like desert
Let`s build a bridge to reach the sky,
Chime to the Divine an alert
That He may glow His shine from high
And shower His grace whence He lies.
I filled a small trench that yielded fresh water.
Built as a serpentine and with a sharp corner.
A small waterfall sang a melodious sound,
A lulled sleepiness induced when it hit the ground.
On each side of the rill, fair, watery plants grew,
A great choice of Algae. Ferns, a lobelia blue.
Fitful arrowheads and water lilies adorn.
Cardinals and others begin their flight in the morn.
Already prepared was a slightly large pond,
Well covered with cement mixed with soil beyond,
I planted some hyacinths and water lilies.
Soon, dragonflies waltz around like sillies.
My final job was planting a dwarf willow.
Don't be surprised, robins made it their pillow.
("Outside Looking In Merit Badge", 2011, original oil)
Building a Dream
My whole life I have been observing myself
Steadily, obsessively telling a story,
Sure, throughout the day, from to time, I lose myself
In work and play and focus on others
But inevitably the focus returns to me
And all those other moments get added to my story.
This is an obsession that never rests
As the watchfulness that never sleeps
Continues to gaze wherever, in, out, around
While my program runs on top
Piecing it all together
Into a whole greater than the parts.
Now that I am old and the story is long and rich
I can see this life’s work, as natural as it is,
Has perhaps been misguided
Flawed by a fundamental compulsive program
Of being me
A dreamer never really free of the dream.
(7/29/24)
Building a house:
Base, floor, wall, roof, lawn and fence
Is building oneself.
("Peyote Dreams", 2018, original encaustic)
Building a Dream
Building a dream
one thought at a time, each
with attendant sensations
flowing from a creative mind,
isn’t so hard to do,
but it can be a struggle,
even castles made of sand
are work, too much work
when they cease being fun,
better to write on water
or leave our thoughts
in the sky, effortlessly
painted in a sunset
flowing in a cloud train
wherever the wind may blow…
(2/14/24)
Building a world that works for tomorrow
When tomorrow will never come
When tomorrow comes, it is today
And today turns into yesterday
And yesterday will never come again
As result you must do your best today
So that you will not have to pay tomorrow
Yet, you should always do you best
So that the next generations
Will not have to pay for your mistakes.
God through Christ Jesus has made it possible
That you may lay all your cares on Him
He will not condemn, yet without Him you are already condemn
Because you refuse to accept His success
That He have gotten you out of your mess
And given you His best to rest, this is what I confess
What about you?
BEING A POET!
With poems,
poems
strips and triplets
much effort
poet is
done...
D U E T
the pen writes
the rough way
the verse...
poet boasts
of poetry.
RECYCLING
in scenario
virtual,
my verses
recycle and
don't misplace...
POET IN LOVE!
always towering
libertarian...
Never, poetry
captive...!
Blossoming romance
Amorously so
Consumes daily thoughts
Visions manifest
Your luscious lips tempt
Perhaps kiss or two
Eagerly texting
Device ways and means
For assignation
Exploring our minds
In carnal desires
To arouse senses
Crossing boundaries
Once hereto unknown
So let us step back
To our comfort zone
Have light hearted fun
Building a friendship
A brick at a time
Anacreontic Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Silent One
4/11/21
Had a smirk of sorrowful clarity
Someone dancing on my grave.
And a artist
The night was gathering materials.
Knowing ambition for pleasure
Would never fill the pit.
The night called for a burn
All the grasped boxes of blankets
Nostalgic wood, Rhapsodies of a ratt-packen
Journals, binders, scraps of thoughts
Nick-knack volumes of prophets
Overdosing on written salvation
Hoping for a instance coffee relief
A always, never the fallow-through
More is pilled, the mix of kindling
Dirty-bits, and old yearnings
A stone from a beach, of first love
Scrapbooks of holding mortality
**** mags, and bed follies pics
A secrete place a catholic boy goes
My heap inter-mixed with nature
All of it dead, until the match
Erupts a fire enjoying feeding
Impermanence is really scarred
So is observing the flame
Hypnotic destruction is fire at night
Eyes dance to flares refection
Chaotic colors of visible heat
A calm abiding trance
Warm glowed my garments
In ambers consuming to ash
I don't tell
story...
I live her!
I do not do
poetry...
I paint her in me!
I do not survive
just in this life ...
I do build
the future ...!
I'm writing this poem in the last days of 2018. The government of the United States is shut down in a fight over the building of a border wall. I am reminded of another border wall that was erected during my lifetime.
In 1961, East Germany built a wall
Of concrete, barbed wire, and steel
Ninety-six miles around East Berlin
At the cost of a bit less than four million dollars
And a bit more than 200 lives.
Intended to stem the flood of East Germans
Seeking freedom to prosper in the West.
A young and inexperienced President Kennedy
Didn't comprehend why East Germany
Needed a concrete wall
When it already had
An Iron Curtain.
In 1989 the Berlin wall was torn down in a frenzy
Of sledge hammers and bulldozers.
Only remnants of it now remain - mostly in museums.
East Germans celebrated and rebuilt their lives.
The reunited Germany flourished
And joined other nations in a united European future.
Why do we think that our wall will have a different legacy?
When you build a house you get to choose stuff
Light fixtures, countertops, outlet covers,
How many windows go in the living room.
We have built three houses, my husband and I.
Always a super challenge as
We notoriously argue about almost every little thing.
Do you like this? No. I hate it.
What about that?
Gag me with a fork.
It is a miracle when we agree on a counter top, or a sink.
I let him have a toilet he wanted once.
We build in baby steps.
More arguments, loud, ridiculous.
By the time we are finished, my husband is exhausted
And I am triumphant
Because I am the mean one.
Building a bridge to your heart
I know... I wasn't there for you
I know... I disappointed you
but... I didn't want to
break your heart
I know...you relied on me
I was a little too carefree
but I didn't want to
break your heart
Chorus
So now I'm gonna build a bridge
Yeah, think I'm gonna build a bridge
So I can come back home,
and walk across, these rocky waters
Yeah, I'm gonna build a bridge
think I need to build a bridge
to lead me back...
back to your heart
It's taken me so much time
I didn't even realize...
that I broke it...
broke your heart
We cannot go back in time
Now, I've just got to find
another way to bind
your broken heart
Bridge
I think I've got to build it! (oh yeah)
I know I've got to build it! (oh yeah)
Now I'm ready to build it! (for you)
Chorus
So now I'm gonna build a bridge
Yeah, think I'm gonna build a bridge
So I can come back home,
and walk across... these rocky waters
Yeah, I'm gonna build a bridge
think I need to build a bridge
to lead me back...
back to your heart
John Derek Hamilton
Jan 31,2017
Ferreting around, in dumpsters of dreams
In the back alleys of my imagination
Through swill, liaisons, and cheap rendezvous
And words misspoke in conversations
Rummaging for one morsel, an old tattered remnant
In a disregarded or discarded memory
For that one piece of the puzzle, a maggot's repast
To feed a starving, rapacious fantasy
I find a face, in a crowd, dark eyes and dark hair
It was only a passing glance
There's a memory, lost, of a soft tender touch
From a young girl at my first high school dance
Then mixing and matching, of shapes and sizes
I've always been partial to curves
A voice, a whisper, an exciting laugh
From a stupor that's still just a blur
In this jigsaw fantasy, some light conversation
At a restaurant by candlelight
Some soft music, slow dancing, funny improvisation
Then a romantic walk in moonlight
She's intelligent, engaging, laughs at my jokes
I'm forever lost in her eyes
While we dream with the stars, with her kiss I'm awoke
In the dark , I sit and I sigh
an original poem by Daniel Turner
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