Short Scrapheap Poems

Cerulean mirror, true to color,
reflected the rouge hue 
the setting sun left; a celestial beauty
that only the Supreme Architect could fashion.

That such cosmic beauty could have radiated
from a galactic scrapheap—once revered
an astral pearl—was beyond the limitations
of mere terrestrial comprehension.

Indeed, only the Sun of the Father could score
such a super sonata that only the planetary eyes
of Mother Earth could hear....

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From the deep recesses of mind
emerges a stimulation
that necessitates a defined
sudden, high-level invention.
Once imagined its stay is brief
and must be dealt with before lost
to distraction. I would as lief
act on its potential than toss
it on an unheeding scrapheap.
Each notion is temporary
and must be exploited to reap
whatever essence there might be
notwithstanding it goes to seed
or an idea that succeeds....

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Death of a Dream
Written: By Tom Wright
January 2015

At edge of night
Lies a junkyard,

Where locked away,
Is each un-kept promise
Empty dream or unmet goal.

From here, finality,
For time knows no reversal.

We freewheel through life,
Seemingly without purpose,
Delaying things,

For a more opportune day,
A day, that seldom arrives.


Dreams should never find their way to the scrapheap of life, 
Make yours count for something;
Tom ...

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