Time is heartless.
It will not stop and
wait for you to ponder
Nor will it turn back
when your tongue
slips and hurts another.
©Sam Harty
I miss you.
I'm dying
the slow death
drowning in a sea
of people I don't know
never wanted to know
because there's only
ever been you
who sings to my soul
calling me back
yet never quite
wanting me.
I struggled
through the crowd
to find you
knowing
full well
you don't
want to be found
at least
not by me.
I feel my
determination
waning away
my mind
pulled under
by unknown voices
my body sucked
into an
unfamiliar crowd
I close my
eyes imagining
your hand
as a Lifeboat
pulling me to you
but you're not here
not really
and I sink slowly
into a loud yet
voiceless crowd.
©Sam Harty
My words have lost all meaning since you left
I've absolutely no more passion and
I can no longer count all the times I've wept
I have more tears than words these days
it's like all my words have dried up
who needs words anyway
give me liquid courage in a cup
Am I still a poet? I don't know
or did my words belong to you
and you took them as you go
I'm alone now and I ponder
can anyone still hear me I wonder
she spilled all my ink when she left
me standing here bereft.
AM I STILL A POET??????????
©Sam Harty
I felt a funeral, in my brain
Somber people gathered
All in black
So many tears
The TRUTH revealed
People DID Care!!
Shovels of dirt cover me
It's raining soil on my casket
©Sam Harty
Can I want to be
Oh so much like you
Maybe instead of who I am
Easily able to walk away
Beyond even giving a damn
Always ready to open or
Close any old door I choose
Kicking to the curb
Those I deem mere refuse
Of course then you wouldn't
Matter as much as now you do
Existing without you surely I'd be blue.
©Sam Harty
The rooster led his harem forth
into the garden for a party
There they would dine from mother earth
Aphids on roses, worms they ate harty
Queen Ann's lace was laced with caterpillars
And rolly pollies ate Day Lilies' leaves
Biddies fed 'pon tiny grasshoppers
for summer was there to please
The Bee Balm and Fever Few had not been
touched by summer's butterfles; Rebecca
had yet to open her blooms; Daisies soon to begin.
Spring blossoms now nearly gone, summer the garden wrecker
The rooster, his hens and biddies loved the party
As among the flowers they pranced and ate smartly
Inspired by Cyndi MacMillan's contest not an entry...
On that day we were all the same, we didn't know there faces, we didn't know
there names.
There voices we heard crying all around the world, someones loving father,
someones little girl.
On that day we were called to lead a better life, for that someones father, for that
someones wife.
The list of souls read from above before it came below why it was and why it is the
answer no one knows.
Through the pain we have learned lessons great and small, life, love, and happiness
are precious cherish them all.
With grace we all go on, but never will we forget that all of these beautiful things
can fade so very quick.
On that day we wondered, on that day we cryed, on that day we asked ourselves
what kind of man am I?
Mothers held there children for so long and oh so tight, why did these people have
to go this was not there fight.
We hope and pray for all those names, and the ones they left behind they gave
their life for a question the answer we must find.
William J. Harty
I set at waters edge early in the morning,
I smell the grass, the dew, the begining of a day,
Thoughts of times gone by,
All those years i managed to survive,
How, in the lonely darkness did I find peace,
All that pain I learned to ease,
No control, I now know of how events unfold,
Maybe because I'm older, stronger, I can take it now,
But that feeling of a child I miss,
The innocence,
The bright eyes just for a day of swimming, I miss,
In the distance I see a dove, a white dove the symbol of the purest,
in the morning sky, he knows how and why to survive,
He still has that feeling, of a child, he dips and dives in the foggy mist above the
water,
He has those bright eyes, that feeling,
I remember how it felt, but forgot how to feel,
I see it in my children though, like the dove,
They are my mornings by the water,
They are the start of the day,
They are the pure,
They are the innocent...
william J. Harty
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