life

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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Rest in Fleece

One more month and spring is here.
When freezing to death’s no longer a fear.
We’ll pack our sweaters, hats and coats.
Soon the bay will fill with boats.
~
Flowers will bloom and temps will rise.
Trees will green before longing eyes.
Days get longer, nights a bit cool.
But now we wait, because time’s cruel.
~
I don’t hate winter or the cold.
But those months are growing old.
I do like autumn but spring is still best.
So for one more month I’ll just rest.

~*~
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To Plus To

To like and love, to lust and trust,
formula’s clear and all’s a must.
Time teaches all to grow.
Seasons season all we know.
.
Negatives dwelt, positives melt.
Negatives dealt, positives felt.
The past a lesson, learned or not.
Good’s great when bad forgot.
.
Hearts, minds and souls align.
Eyes see all is truly fine.
Ears hear all that’s dear.
Arms ready for hugs to share.
.
Smiles glow and worries fade.
Kisses await and warmth made.
Bells ring to end and wake.
Lesson done when a pair we make.

~*~
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Getting High

I like to write lots of stuff but I don’t know why.
And I’ll probably keep doing it until the day I die.
I write a little something almost every day,
but if I never make a dime that’s still OK.
~
I wake up early everyday right around sunrise.
I guzzle morning coffee to open up my eyes.
And when the kitchen’s lit up bright,
out comes my notebook then I start to write.
~
I never know where I’ll go or if I’ll go at all.
There’s a chance I’ll draw a blank but that chance is small.
Pages now fill my desk and the pile’s getting high.
But that’s a poem for another day, so for now goodbye.

~*~
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Poets Bond

~

I want to be a secret agent

Passport full of places went

Double O’Steven will be my name

Deeds done, others to blame

.

Gadgets in kit bond to tell

Code’s sheathed if to dwell

As a writer undercover I’ll be

A life expected in obscurity

.

Armed with poetic license to kill

Never the bullet only the quill

Hearts broken come with the job

Words unspoken said with a sob

.

Cloaked with dagger to stabilize

Bored to tears obscure shaded eyes

Faceless unseen ready to pounce

Heads roll the tales announce

.

Shadowy figures have no fear

When lights on them they disappear

This chapter unknown forever lurks

A page turned another’s in the works

 

~*~

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Little Dudes in my Head

Inward adventures in a cavernous space

Peeking through slits at upside-down space

Bouncing about in a big pile of goo

Any’s too many but none’s too few

~

I can never decide what I should say

I think the little dudes want it that way

They scurry about, finding things I forgot

At times they hide things, they should have not

~

Sometime they edit, sometimes they write

They’re always angry when I turn off the light

Sometimes they’re gone for weeks or more

When they return they’ve much to explore

~

Seldom if ever a good or kind word

I keep my mouth shut so they’re not heard

I scream in a whisper, they lull with a shout

They cause great sorrow but alone I’m without

~

Who’s good or bad is never quite clear

Repercussions of choice is what I fear

A constant tug-of-war, each has a side

I’m in the middle with nowhere to hide

~

Their kicking and screaming can be real bad

But more loyal friends I’ve never had

We all share the pain, though I the blame

We share a laugh that’s never the same

~

It could be worse, or so I’ve been told

I guess I’ll decide when we’re all old

~*~

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Mindless Magnification

Sit with me or foe be you
Or stand will I and we be two
Thrust first if it be best
Twist your blade in my chest

`

Who shall be, shall be the test
Thou who not is soon to rest
I care not for what you do
I will win yet so may you

`

To test the will of a giant
Remembered always as defiant
Giants’ losers as always they be
Taking the time from you and me

`

Be this giant if you must
I’m at peace, you can trust
Eye to eye, perspective’s grand
I bear boulders, your grains of sand

`

Stomp, splatter, hurl or squish
Shortened wicks hasten a wish
Wind won’t silence, only time
Death lives on in a world sublime

`

Stand shall I – face to feet
Choice be yours, ends we’ll greet
Choice be quick, I’ve ends to meet
Choice be mine, please take a seat.

~

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Morning Triku #176 ~ The Bright Side of Gray

~*~

Too Read

Daily poetry
The soothing of a poets heart
But for lover’s not
~

That’s Not Funny

Self-deprecation
Is laughing at our failings
And with good reason
~

Failing to See a Point

No longer obsessed
By success or of failure
I’m used to failure

~*~
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What’s Up Doc?

~

I think we should all have bunny ears,

designating our merits over the years.

Lengths long lost hurting others,

heights higher helping sisters and brothers.

~

Success’s measured in fractions of a hair.

A few points added for additional flair.

Color’s welcome, natural’s best.

Blue’s unseen when none’s stressed.

~

A bunny ear board could endorse promotions.

The bunny brigade would enforce demotions.

The lazy whither though no harm’s done.

Evil ones snipped for they deserve none.

~

Straight-up or floppy, some tied in a knot,

eerie presentations always say a lot.

Sadness droops and lies alert,

the bigger the hop the less inert.

~

Nothing’s unheard of or misunderstood,

when all’s heard and all heard is good.

A world’s more sharing when more’s the same,

less careless flipping of coins for the game.

~

Life could be more than winning the bet,

when what you see is what you get.

That’s why I think we should all grow a pair.

Then tend our garden with the greatest of care.

~*~

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Morning Triku #145 – Word Play

*
Whole Hearted

Do soul mates exist?
Do hearts and minds spark when kissed?
Yes and more when missed.

*
Think About It

Mind over matter
is absurd when the world’s weight
is on your shoulders.

*
Non-Yielding

It’s not easy street
with bumps and stops, though poets
get the write of way.

~*~
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