No Haiku today
Sunny thoughts all gone astray
Fog of yesterday
Coffee and a smoke
Hot ink burns paper beneath
fumes of wet ash rise
To live is to love
To love is to share your life
To share is to live
To write of birth is a one-sided view
To write of the past when all is new
To write of life when opinions are plenty
To write of youth that ends at twenty
To write of joy is to write of grief
To write of pain is of no relief
To write of boredom is to never be bored
To write of lust like sports is scored
To write of love is to love first
To write of hate your mind will burst
To write of fear the fearful not dare
To write without fear is to write without care
To write of lies is to confess
To write of death is just a guess
To write of nothing is no life at all
To write is to write is a writer’s call
A look, touch – A kiss
Hands, bodies – Tactile bliss
Love – Nothing’s amiss
Heart strings stroked feel heat
Neck caressed long and sweet
Rhythm head to feet
How humans learned
They died for knowledge yearned
Trial and error’d
On this morning’s walk
while enjoying the breeze
I passed by a garden
and started to sneeze
I think my thinking cap
Must have blown away
I’ve searched frantically
all morning and day
Without my cap
my thought’s gone astray
The pretty blue sky
has now turned to gray
I tried an umbrella
that didn’t work
I wore a helmet
but felt like a jerk
Without my cap
my writing will end
I guess today
I’ll have to pretend
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 never 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 sleepys 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!
Available at: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/470879
The will of the wind with the air that be,
summons the roar from a silent sea.
When this air too shall roar,
a mighty sea bombards a shore
When the wind and sea collude-
all’s consumed all the more.
Can a roaring wind be silenced-
or will it roar for evermore?
A question answered best in rhyme;
The shores are life, the sea is time.
The air is those around us, crying to be free.
And the wind with its will – a roaring poet be.
Time passes, does it quell?
Unheard voices ring a bell.
Seconds pass, none return.
Numbers count, much to learn.
The past behind, forward’s today.
Ears await, much to say.
Interest earned paths we’re led.
This step’s yours, vision in my head.
Getting up should be forbid!
It’s too early for a kid.
Hiding not from what I did.
Under blankets – there I hid.
If just to sleep late – I would.
And dream all day – I could.
I want sleep, but wake I should.
Getting up is never good.
Getting up is what I dread.
Hair is tossed up on my head.
Mouth tastes yucky, eyes red.
Cold piggy’s dangling from bed.
Then they’re tickled by my dad.
Got right up but I’m not mad.
Smiles and sunshine bright, I’m glad.
Getting up was not so bad.
My pencil in hand – mind set free
Erasing the chains binding me
Safe in my world of poetry
A better friend there cannot be
No rhyme or reason there’s to flee
No shackles of society
No meter of conformity
No question of sincerity
No judge, jury or guilty plea
No door can stop my slender key
I’ll wander through infinity
Another side of life’s journey
Draw lines that know no boundary
Return with words for all to see
Arrange them well – create beauty
Then thank my little piece of tree
Love is; the poem too long to write.
A canvas painted in light,
blending all the colors white.
The song too high to sing.
Timeless symbology of token ring,
endless joy two will bring.
A tug of war, win less win more.
Always warm beyond the door,
in sickness there’s no better cure.
Too follow and be pursued.
Feeling comfy in the nude.
Subtle glances never misconstrued.
Sheets full – to be continued…
Some lyrical words to piss some off,
some will laugh, cry, scream or scoff.
It’s one man’s opinion and nothing more,
yet when the damage done there is no cure.
“We the people” – (unless your broke),
“life, liberty and happiness”, what a joke.
It’s freedom for some, never all,
so forget your worries at the mall.
The air is hot, skip the coat,
but buy a boat so you can float.
Then folic in that bobbing shit –
of vulgar words spewed by a bigot.
A genetic failure of mankind,
a big dyed head and little mind.
Tiny hands embracing arms,
killing more dropping bombs.
So follow the clown to crazy town.
Unless of course a shade of brown.
But pinheads, racist’s and sexist’s welcome,
kiss his ass and maybe get some.
Standing tall above us all,
to your knees and heed his call.
Feed more to that bloated girth.
Then the roach shall inherit the earth.
will be televised, reruns
If extended clips
applied to brains there’d be no
need for the bullets
The numbers say it all
Less is less and more is more
Time to heed the call
What’s now A.I. is All’s Intelligence.
This function A.I. is without consequence.
It’s logic and reason for all to enjoy.
Problems now solved with the ease of a toy.
Every one’s connected and nothing’s overlooked.
The trains run on time and never overbooked.
Errors now are few and never to repeat.
The “WAVE” knows all and when to delete.
This WAVE’s all around and for all to share.
Redundancy is gone leaving space to spare.
The empirical institution the WAVE’s now become.
It’s an indispensable companion, less trusted by some.
It’s used by corporations and governments alike.
Debates now pointless, there’s no need to strike.
Pick your favorite dilemma and the question’s fed.
Answer’s always forthcoming for the followers led.
When asked one day why do wars exist?
Why do greed, intolerance and hunger persist?
Why does hate divide when love multiplies?
Why is the truth of one another’s lies?
The WAVE sputtered, rose and fell.
And with a splash came its truth to tell.
“Man it seems likes to draw lines,
dotting these boarders with deadly land-mines.
Races and religions all have their view.
And with each line drawn they divide by two.
Religion’s divided by do’s and don’ts and do’s don’t agree,
though most can get along individually.
Races will be returned to from where they came.
Then race can no longer be to blame.
Next to consider is the many of mixed pedigree,
they’ll be sent to cities, internationally free.
Thus to return, almost, the world’s indigenous past.
And with tides quickly changing you need to act fast.”
The WAVE roared on to the council’s astonishment.
A vote was had for a very special televised event.
The speaker stepped to the podium and a spreadsheet unfurled,
it’s content of graphs and charts now shared with the world.
And of course as expected the masses erupted.
For each surmised the other’s corrupted.
A new council called for a WAVE review
For all agreed that something’s askew.
This council concluded if manmade there’s a bug.
And thus their proved right when pulling the plug.
When I’m writing less
I’ve far fewer excuses
not to write better
A mean and petty old boss I once had,
made threats to all when he was mad.
“My pen’s mightier than the sword!” he’d say
“Bad recommendations will affect your pay.”
He was always looking to pick a fight.
So with my pen I poked him – to find he’s right.
To be one hundred
percent all of the time is
ten thousand percent
Stories are written every day.
Lips move, people say.
Eyes still seen when shut tight.
Ears and nose always alight.
The mind knows how to think.
Hands made to push the ink.
Yet words of late are not my friend.
Perhaps today this to will end.