fate

Choices

Colors abound, many unseen

Warm, cold and in between

Good, neutral or just plain mean

Perfectly flat or ultra-high sheen

 

Blackness paints the hue of night

Shades of gray fill the light

Morning comes all is bright

Gaze the sun all is white

 

Breathe deep, share the haste

Air fresh or full of waste

Seas of warmth or frigid ice

Hairs of decision some with lice

 

A spectrum of options everyday

Wheels and dials all have their say

Black or white, shades of gray

But choose we must somehow, some way.

 

The End

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When?

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If life begins at birth we know of no tomorrows.

If life begins at ten we know of no ends.

If life begins at twenty there’s still time a plenty.

If life begins at thirty it’s time to get flirty.

If life begins at forty it’s time to get naughty.

If life begins at fifty it’s getting kind of iffy.

If life begins at sixty, then have yourself a ball.

If life begins at seventy you had no life at all.

If life begins at eighty than you better take it easy.

If life begins at ninety then better you than me.

If life begins at a century it’s a life most never see.

Every days a surprise, every tomorrow’s a bet.

It doesn’t matter where you start, it’s how far you get.

The End

 

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Morning Triku #67 – Non-Optimal Optimism

Headlights –

.

Optimism is:

Writing an end to darkness

When there’s no bright side

*

.

Un-Free Times –

.

When do poets sell?

When all my time’s spent writing

Or thinking I can’t

*

.

Scientific Optimism –

.

Nature’s law shared in

Physics and psychology

Is that all things bounce

~*~

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A Thanksgiving Verse

With eyes to the heavens, feet on the earth, hands to our hearts and with our souls radiating from within in all directions, everywhere, to everyone, feel the unity of flesh, spirit and our minds; for we are many, we are one.

Let us rejoice and pay tribute to our forebears, their memory roams among us. It is their remains beneath our feet, covered by the soils of our homage. For it was they who suffered, toiled and worked tirelessly and proudly. It was they who fought the harshest of elements and the temptations of giving up. It was they, whose only desire was to build a home, where once nothing, home for their children, our children and the future.

Let us give our thanks and praise to those that lived before us, to the men and women who gave all and asked nothing in return but the hope, a dream that what they’ve done was good.

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Posthumous Futures

~

To all the writers never known
To the few from which we’ve grown
From their words the future’s sown
Rearranged to call our own

~

To all of those that do it now
From palette pure to graven brow
Investing all we dare allow
Divesting that we can’t avow

~

Time records in poem and prose
Imagined journeys no one knows
From euphoric highs to deadly lows
The tide of emotion forever flows

~

Looking back at history
Or hypothesizing infinity
Sensations felt we can’t see
Ink bled sets us free

~

Where to start, that depends
Our time alone shared with friends
Yet all stories must have ends
Well submerged is where life blends

~

Write the dark to see the light
Time always wins the fight
And when you lay awake tonight
Rest assured our future’s bright

~*~

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Keeping Spirits

~~~

Nature batters, scarring far and wide.

Forgotten battles forever tied.

Man and rock bear the loss of all who’ve died.

Rugged faces change with the changing of a tide.

~

Keeping the wary from a watery hell,

a craggy post a dutiful keeper dwell.

Keeping by day his glass shined bright,

by night he keeps his flame alight.

~

Warning all comers never to near,

this beacon of virtue is only to fear.

Bravely they stand against wind and wave,

the ocean master, keeper slave.

~

Chores of many, companions none.

Sleep begins when work is done.

Ventures end before the dark.

His light stands silent awaiting spark.

~

Beyond this rock and choppy cove,

a small town lie where tales are wove.

Stories of stormy seas abound,

and faraway lands where treasure’s found.

~

In town sits a churchyard overlooking the sea.

Where the keeper visits when a calm day’s free.

Collects his needs quickly, no time for desire.

His row is long to return to his fire.

~

Scores of seasons drifted behind.

The keeper and kept, two of a kind.

Their toils unnoticed, yet seen by all.

Keeping kept the keepers call.

~

Reflections of stars upon the sea.

Infinite horizons awaiting he.

A beacon to all, his lamp not aglow.

To see the light the keep did go.

~

The town sad for their keeper unknown.

He was buried with care as one of their own.

At the edge of the churchyard lie the keep.

With eternal vistas of the light and the deep.

~

Dozens of keepers tried to keep.

All had left quickly, missing their sleep.

Stories told of the old keeper’s ghost.

A most spirited and demanding of host.

~

He rattled windows and slammed doors,

once hid away the old rowboats oars.

His steps are heard on the stairs all night,

sometimes blowing  out the lighthouse’s light.

~

On a chilly morn some years past,

a storm was brewing, approaching fast.

A hardy young sailor paddled for the light,

racing the waves ahead of the night.

~

With setting sun and drenching rain,

wind and waves pummeled, no refrain.

Shores altered with the rising tide,

The hilltop churchyard couldn’t hide.

~

The keeps remains returned to sea.

The young sailor now keeps –  happily.

And ever since that fateful day,

the old keeper’s spirit kept at bay.

~*~

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Slices of Time

~

Stories of a life hidden beneath the grays

Peel back the many layers, see the brighter days

Shades grow ever subtle; space grows to its end

Hues upon a palette, in time all will blend

~

Our colors, depths and textures all leave their traces

Memories in murals and the portraits many faces

Like time measured in the trees ringed grain

Reflections of our many years of snow, ice and rain

~*~

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The Seed

~

Colors of autumn, death’s in bloom.

Return to the earth, the seeds’ final tomb,

nourishing yet another season.

We’re all guests of earth for this reason.

~

And thus the surety of life;

prosperity, mediocrity or strife.

All to return to where once came,

regardless of misfortune or fame.

~

For life is but a lesson –

throughout our mortal existence.

A test of our bodies, minds

and hearts persistence.

~

We’re all creatures of the same seed.

Return to the earth, our souls freed.

So let us not perceive death an end –

simply a new life to transcend.

~

For death is the exploration

of dimensions unknown.

And thus the destiny of the seed-

Grown

~

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Trying

The harder I try, the harder it seems,

I’ve wasted much, reams and reams.

I’ve tried writing of infinity but couldn’t find an end.

Tried to write of society though I couldn’t offend.

~

I tried to write of death, can’t write in the dark.

Tried writing of youth but lost the spark.

Scribbled of sorrow, tears cleansed the sheets.

Dribbled of conquest but I had no feats.

~

I tried to write of time, that didn’t last.

Wrote of the future, thought of the past.

I’ve written coldly until my lips turned blue.

So I wrote of warmth and penned volumes for you.

~

My heart’s now thawed, boiling blood rises to brain.

Bleeding emotion doesn’t have to cause pain.

A trying life’s journey is what’s inked of late.

Perhaps it is now I’m writing of fate.

 

*

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Age

Childhood

Suckled, cherished and warm

Blissful frolic to pimpled storm

Time ticks slow then runs fast

Stumbling blind from the past

Experiments with our alien form

*

Youth

Hormone gales cloud the brain

Life is long, much to gain

Time inhibits, much to do

Carefree hands become too few

Past and future collide, no refrain

*

Mid-Life

Inhibitions shrink

Time enables all to think

Second chance ambitions grow

Hands move fast, body slow

Pass the clock with a wink

*

Seniority

Hands of time toil half the day

The other, gravity has its way

Seeds of time sown with care

Golden harvest – time to share

Leaves fall, memories stay

**

The End

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