A poem by Frank Daub
I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
The sea is just down there.
I am anxious for the sight
of stone turned to bread by the wash
of foam and the jetting of the salt water.
I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
The spiraling gulls
are sun lighted bright in their play
above the sand,
their startling dive
toward the sea is brief
in time and sight.
I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
The freedom of the coast
was eight hundred years
at taking.
One bold county man’s toast
to the awakening water
baptizes the youth
who have forgotten Eire for other lovers.
I’m for stopping; Brendan’s not.
I haven’t heard the all
of every song
or the rise and fall
and rise of every story
that set a mother’s son
free to calculate a career.
I stand for stopping; Brendan says, “too late.”
I want to stay
where the past has gone,
old rebel cries and songs.
Yet,
it’s Brendan through the gate,
and gone
and done
and through with old.
You wouldn’t hire
a fox
to reinvent
the henhouse
And you wouldn’t
task a mute
to shout
“The Enemy’s Approaching”
You wouldn’t
date a woman
another’s love
she carries
And you wouldn’t
give a hand
to a foe who’s pledged
to bite it
You wouldn’t
show your cards
to a double-dealing
cheater
And you wouldn’t
trust a bard
who can’t read his words
with feeling
You wouldn’t
take the time
from an hourglass
that’s empty
And you wouldn’t
stop to ponder
on an answer
— without question
(Dreamsleep: January, 2026)
Will be achieved .)
By forbidding
the sun to rise.'
My twin sister wanted to say “hi” to Edna, a neighbor lady
Someone I had not seen in fifty years
I was not keen, having never liked her.
But my sister insisted, so I said “okay” after a lot of begging.
We stopped at Edna’s house.
My twin rang the doorbell.
Edna came outside.
I heard her say “Hi Carolyn!” in a delighted way
Then she saw me and said “Caren what HAVE you been EATING?”
a reminder that I outweigh my twin sister by forty pounds.
Stopping in an alley on a summer day
rainbow trash exhaling its hot fetid breath
a scamper of invisible residents
searching for the remains of elegant dining
the Nordic hum of struggling A/C units
as an evening sun seems to avoid entry
music drifts from an open window
slowly fades in the humidity
peeking over my shoulder
I slide behind the dumpster…
after “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, by Robert Frost
This bridge meant something in some war,
some yarn of man and God and law:
but I think more of her and me:
what were those others fighting for?
There’s so much here to feel and see,
and yet it’s rubbernecker-free!
I love to watch the fishes jump:
they sense the serendipity!
Lads do the love, dames do the dump.
I can’t imagine now the crump
of primitive artillery,
but I remember Forrest Gump!
The theater, ideally,
was dark and deep: and, as for me,
I’ll linger in the reverie …
I’ll linger in the reverie.
He's a flirt with his anxieties,
Collecting tauted nerves.
She's a pen who haunts his remedies,
And with these words she serves.
He'll romanticize the painful,
And unto pleasure, gain.
Where a page was turned to tar,
With her baneful, poisoned stain.
All that glitters looks amiss,
While they write together sin.
Whereby lovers part by kiss,
Muses part by apitoxin.
What’s stopping you
From being the person
Who you want to be
In this crazy world
That we all live in?
What’s stopping you
From reaching the mountain top
To complete every goal
That you have?
What’s stopping you
From living your best life?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you
From being creative
Through art?
What’s stopping you
From being creative
Through music?
What’s stopping you
from being creative
through textiles?
What’s stopping you
From being creative
Through writing?
What’s stopping you
From living your best life?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you
From traveling?
What’s stopping you
From becoming an athlete?
What’s stopping you
From reaching for the stars?
What’s stopping you
From living your best life?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you
From living your best life?
When the answer comes
You won’t have to ask yourself
What’s stopping you anymore
Written By: D. Collins 3/21/25
The essence of poetry is expressing one's mind.
Able to freeze what's happening at that given time.
Everything seen and heard in the course of a day.
Should be scrolled on paper or digital highway.
Each life experience is a lesson to be taught.
To teach generations to follow the safest route.
It is a good thing in momentarily stopping time.
To document misgivings for deterrence down the line.
The silent snow drifts soft and deep,
A silver hush on bending trees,
The frozen lake lies still in sleep,
Its heart unbroken by the breeze.
The moonlight spills in trembling white,
White scattered pearls upon her breast.
And all the world dissolves in light,
A place where time is lost then found.
No whispered call, no footstep near,
Only the hush of winter's breath,
A moment caught between the years,
A dream that skirts the edge of death.
O let me stay, forget the road,
Let frost and shadow weave their will,
And if the world should call me home,
I will not break the woods' farewell.
I gave up my drivers license because of my poor eyesight,
but after two surgeries I have my eyesight back;
so, I must take the driving test again and learn all rules,
especially all the traffic signs and lights.
Stop, yield, no parking, no left, etc turn, school bus stops,
the buses are in a range of sizes but are all yellow;
with SCHOOL BUS displayed, we must stop 20 meters away,
either from the back or front and watch for kids.
Some buse have red flashing lights, some have stop sign arms,
we must remain stopped until the the bus is finished;
even so, be careful for children walking across the street,
and children running and darting out suddenly.
Often there is a school bus crossing guard, with a stop sign,
stop your car on the line, remain until everyone;
has crossed and then proceed slowly, kids are unpredictable,
so be ready to stop your car at any moment.
I believe, I may have missed the boat
The water’s deep, I couldn’t float
Perhaps the marks I set weren’t high
The tide’s in now – I’ll wave bye-bye
I read Thoreau and Frost, I know
Of wilderness and falling snow
Of Roads Not Taken tongue in cheek
Of singing trees and babbling creek
With pomp and ceremony flyin’
I stopped to sniff a dandelion
To watch a honey bee rejoice
At making such a tasty choice
I sit beside the croaking pond
A heron blending with the frond
A muskrat watches warily
A dragonfly upon my knee
My pants are frayed, my kayak weathered
I share my time with furred and feathered
Visiting these woods, their home
Leave them, as I came, alone
There is so much pain in this world,
You seem to take it on
As though it were all yours.
You wear it like a weighted blanket,
Each of your movements constrained,
So much more effort,
Just to stand up.
I thought I could stop it,
I thought I could stop it for you.
Delay it,
Push it in a corner and trap it.
But time got the best of me,
And before I knew it,
Your mind got the best of you.
How I wonder,
What went through your mind
As you climbed to the ledge of that bridge,
Knowing you would leap off it that night.
I wonder
Had this life been kinder to you,
Would you have stayed?
Not for me,
Not for them,
But for you.
Would you have lived for you,
Rather than survive for us?
I do not know the answers to these questions,
But I like to hope,
That wherever you are now,
You are at peace,
Finally free of that pain
Free of the toxins in your mind,
And the lament in your heart.
So,
My love,
I am sorry
I could not change this world for you.
The pain still thrives,
And I fear I am dying.
As my vision dims into a darkened squint,
I wonder
If only I had more time,
Could I have saved you?
Stopping By Corn Field On A Sunny Day
with apologies to Robert Frost
Whose field is this I'm sure I know.
he's busy in the barn now though
and will not see me stopping here
to find his corn in rows and rows.
The stalks of corn are full of cheer
and cobs are tasty chased with beer;
and golden corn is calling me
to pluck and run, I have no fear.
It's late of day, no one will see
except the sun and she agrees
one or two will not be missed,
it's just a question of degree.
Heaven knows that I will weep
if I drive away with empty Jeep!
So now I have sweet corn to eat ~
sweet corn to eat before I sleep.
Bleak winter Melbourne morning,
a cold wind coming in
from across the Bay
and blowing down the street,
past the Esplanade Cafe
with the smell of coffee
and warm air spilling out
from an open door.
I stop, look at the cake
and pastry display through
the window, the basket
of freshly baked croissants,
Danish pastries topped with
strawberries and apricots
and glazed with syrup.
A cloud of steam
from the espresso machine
adds a touch of the surreal.
Anticipation moistens my mouth
on the sight of French vanilla
slices plump with custard
and cream, muffins erupting
from their papery patties,
Portuguese tarts, thick slices
of carrot cake topped
with icing. I savor each
with an imaginative bite
and decide my treat…
then groan. I've left my wallet
at home.
( for Deb M )
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