life

Dream Love

Only dreamers live the life they choice.
Only gamblers have a life to lose.
With every word there’s a cost.
With every second a second’s lost.
~
Every child has a dream to live.
Every parent has a life to give.
And for every wish there’s a smile.
But only love makes it all worthwhile.

~*~
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Poultry Dreams

In the name of man’s greed and chicken feed,
a farmer hatched his scheme to succeed.
He’d create a chicken with numerous wings.
Then, he too, could soar with the like’s kings.
~
Wings sell well but they sell way too cheap.
But if he had more the more he would reap.
He mortgaged his house and sold his truck.
He kept his old dog who brought him luck.
~
His wife kicked him out to sleep in the hay.
The breeding was started the very next day.
Time quickly passed and soon it was a year.
Most thought him a fool, although sincere.
~
With a cock-a-doodle-do he rose with the sun.
The day would be his, full of pride, joy and fun.
He sprinted to the house to fetch his ex-wife,
who had recently remarried to start a new life.
~
They walked to the barn, after some yelling.
The closer they got the more they were smelling.
With the odor intense, the farmer opened the door.
And with one big swoosh his hopes were no more.
~
His most wonderous chickens all flew the coop.
And the poor farmer left with only their poop.
The lesson of course being evolution’s not a race.
And those who disbelieve get egg on their face.

~*~
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Conflux

Tomorrow’s here and faraway.
Yesterday’s done yet here to stay.
Life, it seems, seems to move on,
seemingly endless until it’s gone.
~
Forward we tread to catch the wave,
treading water into the grave.
Thoughts consumed, distraction prevails.
Future plans are always heads or tails.
~
Missteps many, disappointments abound.
A fool sought is easily found.
But today is now and now I know.
Today’s the day I must grow.
~
Try I must to try much more.
Life’s our purpose not a chore.
The fool I’ll be if not to persist.
Get with the flow or the flow gets missed.

~*~
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Unveiled

On a canvas our lives are drawn,
born of purity, thrust into dawn.
Colors seduce, every stroke another day,
our every action a shade of gray.
~
Hardships endured many tears ago,
the pain forgotten, losses to forever show.
With each scar we’re sculpted, our hands bear the tools.
Minds write the stories of masters and fools.
~
Covers ever changing as we choose,
pages between paid our dues.
Lines filled in, some hues gone astray.
Upon our death the frame we’ll display.

~*~
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Write On

~

Just an observation

Neither here nor there

Just a little thought

That I’d like to share

~

Having writ now a bit

Logging ups and downs

There seems to be a pattern

That’s shared all around

~

Sometimes juices flow

Pumped with inspiration

Sometime the well is dry

Full of emptiness and frustration

~

Yet on we tread for nothing more

Then another chance to explore

Following our pens, hearts and minds

Where always a tomorrow we will find

~*~

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Blooming

~*~
Familiar ground or faraway lands,
there’s sunset’s together holding hands.
Then warm embraces when times seem right,
till the days last kiss with every goodnight.

Our times of joy always more joyful,
while times of sloth simply delightful.
We’ll share our laughter and our sorrows.
We’ll delight in our today’s and tomorrows.

We can do and be what we both dream.
We’ll build new lives as none have seen.
Though the formula needed I do not know.
Yet when seeds planted time does grow.

~
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Four See a Poet Well

Dive deep into this poets well

Rise with weighty, weedy shell

Float atop seas warm and clear

Drown in waves of icy despair

.

To the heavens soaring high

Gravity wins in darkened sky

Climb a ladder to emerge

Swim alone I do not urge

.

Forever shaken out to dry

Life is ripped with tear in eye

Lips conform to truth or lies

Four see and hear no silent cries

.

Poets tend to dive too soon

Writes tomorrows under moon

Sees a future without a past

Writes first, questions last

.

Boards to spring, slides to climb

Empty wells all fill in time

Time gives, takes and lends its hands

Turning forever in shifting sands

.

A place alone when hot

Vibrant when others not

A place that’s cooler than hell

Welcome all to a poets well

*

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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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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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