~*~
A Day Not Led
Get Up, in your head.
Sunrise’s free, truth’s unsaid.
Lie now, time soon dead
~
Revolutionary
Seek inspiration.
Find joy, love and harmony.
Share with poetry.
~
Time for a Bigger Clock
Time waits on no one.
The future wound with shared hands.
Now is tomorrow.
~*~
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Baby blue and pink,
the colors of our birth.
Beauty shared at sunset,
all around this earth.
~
As these colors fade,
stars soon will shine.
Beauty, too, can change,
when our views align.
~
Though our views may vary,
our vision’s all the same.
Raise our children to be free,
to live their lives peacefully.
~*~
090125SCK
~
Life creates the lines we wear.
They’re traced upon the face we share.
Smiles turned up spread everyday joy.
Pouty faces think hearts a toy.
~
Lips arced down build no bridges.
Crinkled brows scaled ridges.
Eyes bright glow through the night,
eyes down dwelt shade their light.
~
Enthusiasm shines with a spark.
Heartache shines in the dark.
Time wrinkles the more we press.
Smooth is felt, not a guess.
~
Directions clear when maps unfold.
Routes we’ve drawn, our story told.
Hellos leave more to see.
Loves image is good bye free.
~
I wish for the lines of long ago.
I wish to watch that of another grow.
A fateful glance we’re sure to know,
little things make the big picture show.
~*~
SCK110118
.
I was out to lunch this early fall,
with my sweetheart, disturbed by a call.
Tried not to answer, boss wouldn’t wait.
“Go to the harbor”, he yelled, “before it’s too late”.
Duty calls, I sped to the pier,
swerved through traffic as fast as I dare.
Screeched to a halt at the dock by the bay,
the boat’s motors revved then underway.
Holding on tight I asked what’s the fuss?
The skipper pointed up at the blob over us.
It was big and gray, no particular form,
battered and tattered like a dingy in a storm
It hung from balloons, one at each end,
letting air out slowly to descend.
It kissed the calm harbor with hardly a swell.
A slit appeared then a putrid smell.
Followed by a ladder of rope dropped to the sea,
then an old head popped out “Ahoy thar matey.”
We climbed aboard the blob that fell from the sky.
Inside appeared to be a ship with no sails but masts high.
A portal to the past or future, it wasn’t clear.
My eyes wide open, couldn’t fathom what’s near.
Bos’n whistle blowing, ships bell ringing,
Captain’s on deck, old sailors singing.
Adrift in time for many a year,
brass shone bright, decks scrubbed bare.
Beards grown long, spirits grown weak,
searching endlessly for the end they seek
I asked many questions and he of I.
“How did you come to fall from the clear blue sky?”
He shrugged and answered “balloons in the sun.”
He asked how the war went; I said “you won”
Pleased by the news, great joy was abound.
The captain and crew, spirits were found.
We told him our location, name and job.
He told us the story of his great flying blob.
“I built her to survey the rogue enemy.
Launched in the spring, eighteen sixty-three.
But she rose too quickly and at too fast a pace.
Caught in a current and thrust into space.
She’s wrapped in layers of thick blubber.
Fin of spruce to serve as rudder.
A ship out of water floating in space,
propelled by methane made from our waste.
And in her belly the mighty tree grew;
wood for repairs, air for the crew.
Trimmed to perfection, nurtured with care,
the trees demise is all that we fear.”
“The tree is the living when all else seems dead.
Greens for the birds then eggs we are fed.
Twigs feed the fires for heat and our light,
the roots of survival the engine of flight.”
The captain paused for word from the mate.
A decision to make before it’s too late.
The blubber was oozing in the midday sunlight,
absorbing seawater, soon too heavy for flight.
He called out the order to make all lines taut.
Bid us farewell and shared one last thought.
“No matter how far our souls may roam –
the journeys not over until we are home.”
The blob sailed off high in the sky –
then disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The captain and crew homeward at last,
seeing the future, choosing and the past.
The End
Sck092914
*
We’re off to the swap meet today.
Dad says its work, I say its play.
Mom thinks it’s all a bunch of junk.
Who needs an old cast iron skunk?
~
Every year since I was two.
Seen the toes of many a shoe.
In my wagon with squeaky wheel,
once pulled string from an old fly reel.
~
Saw a ship of wood, bone and hair.
Dad got nervous, said don’t go there!
Great memories of dad and me.
I wish that mom would come and see.
~
Up before dawn, first at the gate.
If you’re not first, well than you’re late.
I think that second’s also OK.
Don’t follow, go the other way.
~
A laugh a push a yawn and sneeze.
New spring pollen made someone wheeze.
We’re squashed on the fence right up front.
Soon we’ll start a new treasure hunt.
~
The gate opens, I think we won.
I don’t care; I’m here to have fun.
We see faces we’ve seen before.
But the new ones are a lot more.
~
Soon the sun will rise in the sky.
Down the rows with treasures stacked high.
A day of fun, ready to learn,
Something new at every turn.
~
We pass the women in her shawl.
Sits alone, sells nothing at all.
Walking past, I’d wave and say hi.
But never did I catch her eye.
~
But now I’m ten, no chaperon.
Maybe she smiled because I’m grown.
She waved me over to come right in.
Glad to see her never seen grin.
~
I gazed into lots of old stuff,
even the best looked kind of rough.
She told me stories of each thing,
corner chair and ancient nose ring.
~
“I rarely sell my things of old.
They can’t be enjoyed when they’re sold,
loan things to friends once in a while,
like you” she said with a big smile.
~
“I’ve watched you pass since you were small.
On your dads’ shoulders, eight feet tall.
I’ve seen you smile and watched you grow.
Each time passing you’d say hello.
~
Walking past, eyes open wide.
You never dared to come inside.
Talking to strangers is unwise.
If I scare you, I apologize.”
~
She gave me a book that’s quite small,
not too many pages at all.
The book kept dreams lost in your head,
while you were sleeping in your bed.
~
She opened the book to page three.
Then whispered some secrets to me.
“Dreams are wishes stuck in your head.
They only come out when in bed.
~
Sleeping soundly, eyes shut tight,
mind wondering all through the night.
When you wake to start a new day,
write down those dreams before you play.
~
Follow your heart wherever it goes.
Record your trip in lovely prose.
Don’t stop writing until you’re done.
It’s never work when it’s all fun.
~
First open the book carefully.
Than close your eyes and wait to see,
all your dreams will come back to you.
But it might take a week or two.
~
Just be patient, don’t ever fret.
All things good you never forget.
I need not tell you anymore,
complete instructions on page four.”
~
She found a box, it fit just right.
I couldn’t wait to sleep that night.
Tied it up with ribbon and bow.
She gave me hug, told me to go.
~
It’s been a long winter since then.
Yes I’ve used up many a pen.
I wake each morning at sunrise.
Wipe the night’s sleepy’s from my eyes
~
Mom saw me writing early one day.
She asked to see, what could I say?
Together we both read out loud.
We laughed and hugged, she said she’s proud.
~
Now up after dawn, we’re not late.
Family’s first, treasure can wait.
Another year, there’s much to see,
at the swap meet; mom dad and me.
~
I hope to see my new old friend,
I’ll share my news with happy end.
I tried hard and my wish came true.
Now mom comes to the swap meet too!
*
The End
~
sck100914
Available at: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470879
Awaiting a shells fateful date,
eggs alone beat in wait.
When a pair scrambles to meet,
futures fertile swim to greet.
~
Pairs joined to each a share,
new is made over easy with care.
Hatched a recipe for pure delight,
sliding from heat, home plate’s in sight.
~
Yet time fragile, forking’s no joke,
bad luck befallen bound by yoke.
Getting fried never rehearsed.
And the wait answers which came first.
~*~
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Too few natives, too many a chief
Too few police, too many a thief
Too much sun, too little rain
Too much tan, too little grain
Too few balls, too many sports
Too many yachts, too few ports
Too few hearths, too many homes
Too much warmth under too few domes
Too many shakes, too few hugs
Too little trust, too many bugs
Too little love, too much hate
Too little planning, too much fate
Too much running, too little soul
Too much waste, too small a hole
Too many pages, too few to conserve
Too many titles too few deserve
Too many thinkers, too little thought
Too many lies, too little truth sought
Too much war, too little gain
Too little peace, too much pain
Too many arms, too few fists
Too few battles won to list
Too little time, too much to lose
Two choices remain – which one do you choose?
The End sck081314
I have a plan to save mankind.
I’ve just a few things left to find.
First is a place we all can hide.
It’ll need big windows to feel outside.
~
Next is food, but we can’t be too picky,
just nothing too spicy, gooey or sticky.
There’s coffee, for sure with sugar and cream,
then a really big bed for all to dream.
~
We’ll need some music so bring guitars.
Smoking’s optional but no cigars.
There’s no heavy drinking or hard drugs.
No need for violence or unruly thugs.
~
There will be no jail or a court.
So bring no weapons of any sort.
We’ll all need to promise to get along.
It sounds pretty easy, what can go wrong.
~
You’ll never find a happier place.
It’ll fill up fast so reserve your space.
Now one last thing before I take leave;
it’s best not come if you can’t believe.
~*~
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We work by day and dream at night.
In between we live and fight.
We fight for peace and for love.
We fight to live, we push and shove.
Sometimes we give, sometime we break.
We sometime take more than we make.
We fight for much and for less.
We fight for time to fight off stress.
We’ve fought for us and for them.
We fought for merit and to condemn.
We fight the ills that lurk within.
We fight our demons so we may win.
Yet battles won are never done.
And battles lost are never one.
But still we fight until at last we die.
We’ll fight for breath to at last ask why.
~*~
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Days pass without a thought.
Life flows, words are naught.
Fantasy’s forged, reality wrought.
Patience builds, time has taught.
~
The future is the past brought.
The present is where caught.
Work consumes, hurdle fraught.
Solace earned, never bought.
~
Joy is when not distraught.
Dreams fought, wishes besought.
Love defined by what is sought.
Success is, as it ought.
~*~
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I lay awake throughout the night,
ponder do I of what to write.
The morning comes and again I rise.
The page sits blank before my eyes.
~
My head’s foggy the skies clear,
air’s cool and autumn’s near.
My love slumbers, her heat I feel.
My heart warms to what’s now real.
~
A morning ritual loved so much;
I kiss her forehead with a gentle touch.
Hours to pass for her to rise,
a poem awaits her sleepy eyes.
~
Smiles and kisses we then share.
Our need for each other we’re much aware.
My mind now settled and troubles cease.
Another day’s begun with love, joy and peace.
~*~
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I’m starting my day in a positive way.
Good morning to all is what I say.
If it’s not morning have a good night.
Your time will come to see the light.
~
Life will be both happy and sad.
When it’s not bad you should be glad.
And when it’s good share your bliss.
If you’ve a partner, share a kiss.
~
Share your joy with one and all;
acts of kindness are never small.
A simple smile will brighten a day.
A simple good morning will have its sway.
~
Awake is a plus, the future starts there.
Dwell on the positives and subtract despair.
Time keeps ticking and forward we go.
Don’t be conned, think like a pro.
~*~
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Change is in the air,
it’s felt on the breeze.
The clock quickly ticking,
the wind-up’s been a tease.
~
The future is before us,
experiences behind.
Knowledge fills our heads,
yet we’re truly blind.
~
We’ve hopes for better days,
dreaming of peace and love.
While fearing the unknown,
we seek to rise above.
~
Yesterday’s now gone,
premonition’s premature.
Tomorrows manifest,
yet only now’s for sure.
~
Consistency comforts,
surprises feel strange.
Seconds are our choices,
yet only time will change
~*~
SCK012920
When values are charismatic
and thought becomes plutocratic,
participation is devoid.
Then hardship is systematic.
~
When this world seems dramatic
and our head’s full of static,
anger’s then employed.
And hate becomes pragmatic.
~
When life, it seems erratic
and joy becomes sporadic,
worry fills the void.
Then the gloom is traumatic.
~
When time itself is problematic
and the future’s enigmatic,
trust is then destroyed.
And solitude becomes symptomatic.
~
But when we are diplomatic
and compassion’s automatic,
violence we avoid.
Then love is democratic.
~*~
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Where bumble bees sing to morning blooms,
sunshine fills sleepy rooms.
Little birds chirp to ring in the day.
The town folk thrive and children play.
~
Evening’s all spent cozy and warm;
everyone huddles at word of a storm.
With a common goal of tranquility,
their smiles all share the harmony.
~
Freedom reigns and peace assured,
caring for all, we’re all adored.
And though this place is yet to be found,
in dreams we meet when feet leave the ground.
~*~
SCK020219
Lost in a wandering state of mind,
returning to memories I thought left behind.
A campground awaits from decades of yore,
There’s a lake nearby and nature galore.
Summers there filled with family and friends,
as the specter of youth unknowingly ends.
The journey’s now short to a time long past.
My cabin soon appears while the sun fades fast.
The sky was clear, blues deepened to black.
The stars shone bright, they welcomed me back.
I relaxed on the porch and sipped iced tea,
my friends due tomorrow the night was for me.
With waning moon the damp mist rose,
crickets serenaded, eyes started to close.
Blissful sensations then the start of dreams,
when startled was I by familiar screams.
Dolly, Dolly, Dolly! was all she ever said,
her childhood taunts now flooding my head.
She’s the ghostly remains of horrors we’d share.
The truth is haunting when better a nightmare.
She would scratch at the screen above my bed.
I’d shriek and shiver and cower with dread.
Mornings would come, I’d report of my fright,
“that little girl’s ghost came to take me last night”.
My brothers would tease and mom consoled,
dad says they’re figments of tales I’ve been told.
But when evenings cool and crescent moon high,
dense fog rose and that child would cry.
Dolly, dolly, dolly is all she would say,
Her bony hand summoned and pointed the way.
Never dared I answer her mournful request.
Silently I’d wait, ignoring my guest.
It’s been many years since last we met.
Time I’ve tried hard, but to never forget.
Now I’ve matured and conscience will decide.
Am I to seek or again shall I hide?
I know not what of this phantoms despair.
Yet together there’s grief we seemingly share.
Her woe is death while mine’s the living.
Each is assured though neither forgiving.
Our paths have crossed, all have an end.
My choice is made by this spirited friend.
With eyes open wide follow I must,
forsaking not, that lost child’s trust.
I rose and leaned forward, held out my hand.
Our fate’s to obey and to command.
We dashed through the field and into the woods.
A moment imagined of pleasant childhoods.
Each step echoes with brittle twig snap.
Till the shadows of trees soon overlap.
To guide my way mere slivers of light,
pursuing my phantom into the night.
Thicket and bramble claw at my skin,
bleeding the courage from deep within.
The worn paths end at fresh fallen leaf,
this forest beyond, beyond my belief.
Spirits roam free where the living don’t tread.
My friend had returned to her life of the dead.
I wished again to hide safe behind closed eyes,
trading this vision for dreams of blue skies.
The girl then pointed at boulders stacked high,
interwoven with brush to hide from the eye.
All layers of shadow, grays deepened to black,
foretelling the depth of crevice and crack.
Her hazy glow grew brighter, eyes more intense,
repeated cries for dolly now making sense.
She’s lost a dear friend and I’m chosen to find.
To abandon now this child was beyond unkind.
Exited are we, our quest’s nearly done.
‘Twas a test of persistence, both surely won.
My mind’s now a flutter, heart beating proud,
grasping in darkness through thick thorny shroud.
Our search going well till that last step was taken,
the ground then vanished, I was tumbled and shaken.
I awoke sometime later to whispers, mumbles and cries.
My new friend stood close as I opened my eyes.
I saw Dolly held tightly and a bustle nearby.
Mourners had grouped where a still body lie.
A lifeless figure with a familiar shape and size.
The live too are familiar, all saying goodbyes.
The little girl thanked me for my many good deeds.
As slowly she faded having found what she needs.
I begged to be taken for I’ve been truly kind.
When last she said “You need first find needs left behind.”
.
Sck021616
Tomorrow’s to be the best day.
A day of sunshine, swim and play.
Must get to sleep, morning is near.
We’ll wake early, much to prepare.
*
Eat breakfast, find my pail and rake.
Great big castles of sand we’ll make.
Pack cooler with lunch, bring a hat.
Bags for towels and this and that.
~
Morning has come, wide open eyes.
Hoping for those clear blue skies.
It must be early, sky’s still gray.
Maybe I woke on the wrong day.
*
Waited all winter, now’s in reach,
sunny day of fun at the beach.
Went back to bed, nothing to do.
Closed my eyes then the sun shined through.
~
Jumped out of bed, day’s second chance.
Brush my teeth and put on short pants.
Ran downstairs for breakfast and more,
a surprise friend waits at my door.
*
We all got packed into the car.
Hoping the drive won’t be too far.
Wheels turn, were almost there.
Windows open, I smell the sea air.
~
Pull in the lot, our fun begins.
Unpack the car, pull out the bins.
We carry the bags, two for each.
Umbrellas up, blanket on beach.
*
Cooler wheels stuck in the sand.
Dad asked me to lend him a hand.
We’re all set up, time to explore.
There’s much to do at the seashore.
~
We hurry down to take our dips.
First toes then knees, up to hips.
The water’s cold, we jumped back out.
To thick towels we run and shout.
*
My fingers wrinkle, lips turn blue.
The sunshine’s warming me and you.
Sand’s sticking to my wet swimsuit.
Mom gets lunch; sandwich, drink and fruit.
~
Our feast is done, time to play ball.
Huffing and puffing, shared by all.
We blew it up then threw it high.
Caught by the wind, kept by the sky.
*
Grab our shovels, pile the sand.
Moats and towers, kings of this land.
Then waves came in with a crash.
Hours to build, gone in a splash.
Now we’ll find some big new sea shells.
Some are flat some shaped like bells.
Some you hear the sea in your ear.
Some will have things living in there.
~
Sifting for treasure in the sands.
Time slipping through our small wet hands.
We keep the best in a small sack.
To be explored when we get back.
*
Now let’s try the water again.
First you go then I’ll jump right in.
Dive and swim, watch seaweed float by.
Then the sun sank low in the sky.
~
We all go home, skin pink, eyes red.
Take a cool bath then off to bed.
Going to sleep dreaming of more,
a day at the beach is best – I’ m sure!
*
The End
sck081314
*
Life fades to fallen hues.
Winter’s white with deepest blues.
Spring’s upon a pastel moon.
And summer shines none too soon.
*
SCK011118c.
*
Bunnies nibbling fresh spring grass.
Clouds as time leisurely pass.
Darkness consumes as does every day.
Time as grass nibbled away.
Sun’s rise, birds welcome sung.
Minds unwind, spring has sprung.
~*~
sck040916
Yellow’s out, green’s underway
Pinks will wait another day
Then purples, orange and brilliant reds
Bursts of blooms thrust from beds
~
My world awakens, spring’s finally here
Lilac hues fill the air
Sunrise sparkles on morning dew
Budding trees frame the view
~
Clear blue skies, picnics at noon
Summer’s next, just not too soon
*
Sck042625
.
Taxing Tax Free
The nice thing about
being an author is you
wrote your own paycheck.
.
More or Less
If you try sometime
you do find you get what you
tried for but no more.
.
Dueling Wits, I Coulda Had a G8
If a sum’s greater
than its parts, then parts lacking
must be a summit.
.
sck070717
I was a baby by conception
A child with confusion
A sailor by frustration
And an engineer by education
I’m an appraiser by profession
A husband with devotion
A father of commotion
And a poet by obsession
I’m a man in regression
Not ready for stagnation
So I’m penning a description
On this day of our taxation
.
sck041516
rhymesalot 
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