fulfillment

Celestial Time

Embers fade, waning moon

Sounds of day coming soon

Nights of bliss with our love

Counting stars that dance above

*

Sharing secrets from the past

Recalling joy that didn’t last

Time’s treasured in the dark

Horizons clear with the rising arc

*

By day we grow, eves recede

Priorities given to what we need

Quills in hand, arm in arm we’ll fly

Soaring and diving in the endless sky

*

In search of a hilltop on which to lie

It is here I’d wish to die

To rest and ponder life’s miracle

Where the arc becomes full circle

~*~

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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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Swap Meet

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*

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

~

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Available at:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470879

Literally Preposterous Poetry

A poet writes literally in metaphor
Corridors long, many a door
Doors of a poet need no key
Minds always open to poetry

`

Times to lose finding ones right
Days painted dark, nights write bright
A knights shining armor shields sight
Whilst wings of steel soar in the light

`

I know not what I shall think
With heavy load, this pen and ink
Or, should not I think or care at all
Bowing beckoned to this writers call

`

Scribbling, scribing, screaming; I know not why
Tis the finest of line – fantasy and lie
Opinions of truths and relative fact
Explosive emotion, some just an act

`

Though as preposterous as it may appear
A writer’s world there’s literally no fear
We flaunt, flourish and spill our ink
Free from fear to write what we think

`

Thus poetry freedom, yet some never see
And that’s literally preposterous to me

~*~

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Selfscape

~

On a canvas of life we paint every day.

Some burst with color, some dull and gray.

Each stroke has consequence, broad or precise,

all mediums large though most will suffice.

~

Hue’s all made one from another.

Texture’s built on a base we smother.

Shadows lurk in black and white.

Brilliant moons portray the night.

~

Love is felt on glowing skin

Hate pours from the blood within.

Seas of green churn, gallant ships tossed.

Crews-o-many flounder, all forever lost.

~

Happiness’s awash in the bright blue sky.

Sadness gives it time to dry.

Realism reflects an instant in mind.

Abstract’s more real when meaning you find.

~

Yet in two dimensions we do all conform.

Our edges and corners define the norm.

Then we sign, frame and place on a wall.

There hung with the others, all very small.

~*~

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Write to Dream

I don’t write much about reality

There’s things there I’d rather not see

There’s comfort in a world made of fantasy

There’s no hate, no war, no suffering to be free

~

There’s no false hope of dreams promised you and me

No hearts are ever broken, we are always we

It’s between these sheets of fantasy where I write to be

Where the world’s shared dreams become reality

 ~*~

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Paths Move People

We can’t see the future or read the mind.

But with eyes, ears and thinking gears,

there’s much that we can find.

Pages of our lives fanned out in real-time.

Voices of every color sing them out in rhyme.

~

What was is done, will be, just a guess.

Is, is now, lest we digress.

Paths past can follow to haunt and test.

Yet we need only step a little, time gives the rest.

 ~*~

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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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The Fairy To My Tale

You are the sight to my braille
The billowing wind to my luffing sail
The industrious shovel to my empty pail
The swift moving engine to my spiked down rail

~

You’re the decisive hammer to my rusty nail
The protective shell to my squishy snail
I love you fresh when I’m stale
Always the balance to my skewed scale

~

You are the diamond to my shale
The summer warmth to my winter hail
You prop me up when I’m frail
You’re the head, of course, of course to my droopy tail

~

The only key to my lonely jail, the cure to all I ail
Always the mystery on this long and dusty trail
You’re the light upon the hill to my lowly dale
You are after all the happy end to my fairy tale

~

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Wizard Mode

I’m off to see a wizard, the wonderful wizard of odd

It flutters all about waving a feathered rod

But first I’ll take a nice long nap

Wake up then find my thinking cap

 ~

I’ll sharpen my quills like a warrior’s blade

And joust with parchment where magic’s made

Then dig into my helmet, always full of goo

Hopefully to yank out something that is new

 ~

I never know what or if it may be

Until the ink dries then I’ll get to see

What magic has this wizard left?

Something clever or something deft

 ~

Sometimes the words all disappear

Then time has passed, wasted here

Though journeys un-ventured, high or low

Are the adventures you will never know

 ~

So follow your wizard and you will find

Those magical wizards are mostly kind

Though often absent, never fret, I’ve a hunch

Some wizards are just out to lunch

 ~*~

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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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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

~

Sck2014/84

Always Time

The clouds clearing, the sun is felt.
My icy heart has begun to melt.
Love has warmed, time to grow.
A kiss awaits this I know.
~
My future slumbers, I quietly rise.
Starlight twinkles in my eyes.
The mirror greets a smiling face.
The fog’s lifted without a trace.
~
Her day will start with a hug.
She’ll pull me closer, nice and snug.
A plan we’ll make for another day.
But in this moment we’ll always stay.

~*~
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