The sun still spills on the oranges' skin,
Bright as the lies we bury within.
The sea is patient, the palms still sway,
But silence gathers at the edge of the bay.
How many rules must the warm wind bear
Before it forgets how to kiss the air?
They scribble statutes in hurried ink—
Do they ever pause long enough to think?
Children dream under moonlit skies,
While lawmakers trade in their lullabies
For leashes on thought and tide.
Liberty wilts when shadows need not hide.
Let me lie down where the wild birds go,
Far from the noise of the men who know.
A law for this, a law for that—
But none to hush the diplomat.
Oh Florida, must you cage the breeze?
Join the runners at the line,
clean out all those pantry shelves.
Make a promise to spend time,
creating a healthy self.
Throw away all the junk food,
maybe head down to the gym.
Eat less, get more sleep, and walk,
try to make my body slim.
Why not learn a new language,
or how to knit and crochet.
Put away all my pennies,
to save for a rainy day.
Quit smoking and less cussing,
consume no more alcohol.
Adopt a pet, learn to cook,
buy local and not the mall.
Go to church and pray for peace,
try something new every day.
Just relate and meditate,
speak only when there’s something to say.
Be early and never late,
turn away from the TV.
Say the words, “I Love You” more,
to my wife and family.
Spend more time getting outdoors,
enjoying life’s little things.
Try to be more confident,
maybe even learn to sing.
Don’t judge people by their look,
think awhile before I speak.
Look for the good, ignore the bad,
stand up for the lost or weak.
Spend less time on my cell phone,
more time with my family.
Write more words, make some new friends,
be the best that I can be.
ancient wooden boats
gnarled hands slowly pull worn nets
smaller catch each year
"Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us." - Hal Borland
Each year goes round, and so I must surmise
that even though four seasons make a year,
we cannot really say when one year dies
or when the brand new year has had its dawn!
At any spot upon this earthly sphere,
we, all of us, are going on and on.
There is no start, so there can be no end.
We try to gather wisdom from the old
to learn from it and then resolve to mend
our future ways, then pass it to our youth.
But wisdom must be valued more than gold
if love and peace on earth would be our truth.
Each year goes round, and so I must surmise
there is no start, so there can be no end!
(A Cornish Sonnet)
Yet if that were actually a true fact,
I would not have been alive even an hour.
At one's end it could seem like forever,
Ten minutes would give you a decade to live.
Who's to say how long long is?
First time I kissed my true love,
Previous days were lost in obscurity.
A few seconds replaced a life I'd lived so far.
Who's to say what your words are worth?
Only the ones who love you know that,
Only the ones that understand them really care.
The rest trample over your flowers like weeds.
Too many in too much of a hurry,
To find what they've already passed by.
Rushing to jump over that cliff at life's ocean,
Then drowning in own dreams before they appear.
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
Demetrios Trifiatis wrote about dying children
Five million from malnutrition each year
An astounding statistic that's the shame of humanity
So uncomfortable for us people to hear
Astonished but we think what can one person do
To stop these outrageous statistics
To trust the organizations that ask for your dollars
Overwhelmed by the staggering logistics
Well doing something is far better than doing nothing
Or these atrocities will continue to go on
If you can sleep at night knowing these facts
Then let someone else carry the baton!
© Jack Ellison 2014
Middle age men, look in this clear mirror
and spot those gray strands of hair:
they may seem ugly, but they bring wisdom;
look again, you are still vibrant,
and accomplish more than those who won't dare:
tell them to live as you have...
Lines on these foreheads are the furrows that
make us so conscious of our existence,
and death is not far from life's painful truth;
we think of the future as a time yet to come,
but we live it this very moment...not realizing it:
and with spirit and courage, we race to stay alive...
Each year another gray hair is added to our increasing age;
can we accept mortality, and not reject discontent and rage?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
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