Could Have Been

‘Twas the dawn of the new,
where a seaside village grew.
Novice and native confused.
From each the other felt used.

Forests deep or oceans wide,
betwixt’s unknown, where demons hide.
Hovels cluster to brave surrounds.
Perils beckon with all new sounds.

Ships multiply within the decade.
Promises broken to many made.
Seeds planted and families grown,
with the first of the babes now on their own.

One such named Sam while out to fetch wood,
kept up with his mom, best he could.
Yet he dallied about and lost his way,
the first of many an enlightening day.

Surrounded by darkness, Sam was afraid,
he awaited death from his errors made.
The silence broken by crackling leaf,
eaten or captured will soon end his grief.

There in the moonlight to Sam’s surprise,
a scared young squaw was before his eyes.
Sam huddled close with his new friend Fawn.
They shared the warmth till the new day’s dawn.

Their words spoken with only a glance,
parting as friends made by chance.
Fawn pointed toward Sam’s path home.
He turned to thank her, yet she did roam.

Sam soon safe, years soon pass.
Herds dwindle, slaughtered in mass.
Danger dies when dangers burn,
for dreams of freedom we all yearn.

With hardy to fore, lessor the back,
prey’s all around for the attack.
Muskets in hand they hunt the beast.
The fallen the joy of this autumnal feast.

Alone in the wood, sun’s fading fast,
Sam’s in a daze lost in the past.
He sat and pondered without any fear,
recalling Fawn, his long lost dear.

Thanks to her, Sam’s here today,
assisting her ruin to make his way.
The silence broken by crackling leaf,
there stood his Fawn, ending his grief.

Sam rose in the moonlight reflecting her eyes.
Her pain carved deep by years of cries.
The pair ventured north, far as they could.
Their legend ends there and all was good.

~*~

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Little Things

Books grow dusty unread on a shelf.
The poetry of love doesn’t write itself.
Bicycles unridden grow squeakier by the day.
Hearts untethered slowly drift away.
~
Kisses can heal the mouths mistakes.
Eyes can see when smiles are fakes.
Arms can hold or they can harm.
Words can hurt or they can charm.
~
Time that’s misspent is time we lose.
Time together is the time we choose.
Nothing is wasted when all is used.
Love’s created when souls are fused.
~
Choices made are for us to make.
Trust in another is to never forsake.
Relationships are all these things.
And when it’s right what joy it brings.

~*~
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When All’s Left Is Write

To write from one’s heart,
the sweetest of art,
Valentine’s every day.
~
To write from ones soul,
a most serious goal,
but stillness has its sway.
~
To write from the head,
reality’s shed,
the world’s just our way.
~
In time and space and geography’s place;
people rush by, each a new face.
All’s directing a no act play.
~
Scenes overlap and curtains fall,
script’s blank await the call.
Silence screams its say.
~
A choice to write’s a right to choose.
When darkness consumes the bright side we lose,
left only with blue and gray.
~
If a life imagined we’re to create,
chapters mate and thoughts relate.
The end’s let to stray.

~*~
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Persistent

In this time of “writer’s block”,
I stare blankly at paper and clock.
With jumbled prose I try to think,
should life be guided by pen and ink?
~
Does a rhyme decide a story’s path?
Can a re-verse save us from the wrath?
The day is young; there are things to do,
but the sky’s gray with a snowy hue.
~
The air is cold, I’ll assume,
my spirit’s locked within a room.
Doors will open if I choose.
When all’s lost there’s none to lose.
~
Persistence colors the choices we make.
Is persistence for persistence sake?
Do we persist simply to win?
If direction’s unclear should we begin?
~
Like life, love, thought and art,
questions unanswered are the start.
Life ticks forward with us or without.
Thoughts will be shared without a doubt.
~
Art will be made with all the thoughts had.
And love makes life happy but also sad.
Dilemma’s obscure visions true.
A vision obscures my dilemma new.
~
I’m seeking an end to what’s now fraught.
The past’s the lesson of what’s been taught.
And like life, love, thought and art,
ends shade poetic an open heart.

~*~
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Made Up Fiction

I think I feel a story coming on.
I’ll need a character, I’ll call him John.
And of course he’ll meet a girl.
I guess I’ll just name her Shirl.
~
I only did that for the rhyme.
But I’ll try a little harder next time.
The pair will meet on a lonely street.
John will ask where there’s a place to eat.
~
As luck would have Shirl’s on her way.
They ate, talked and laughed the rest of the day.
The sun long set and the check long paid.
The time was now for a plan to be made.
~
John thought to himself, what should I do?
His reasons for reservation are more than a few.
Shirl too was thinking exactly the same.
When the pieces are alike it’s no longer a game.
~
The conversation faded and they drifted apart.
Was it the fear of the end or of the start?
I wish this tale had a happier end.
But then again it’s all just pretend.

~*~
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Dig It

Sitting in silence alone with my thought,
thinking of time when quiet’s sought.
But time it seems does not align,
to my plans or grand design.
~
Intersections come to bear,
a train of thought gets us there.
Whistles and bells are sure to please,
with some steam we’ll never freeze.
~
We’ll shovel shit to eat some bread.
Or dig ever deeper into our head.
Pain’s always felt to reach the goal.
The track we choose carries our soul.
~
I play with words cos it’s fun.
And when I’m hollow, I’ll be done.

~*~
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