Our Wrinkle in Time
Work is what we do,
when not doing what we want.
Like death but with pay.
Time is space between.
Between matters and doesn’t.
Distance less with light.
Love is energy.
Hearts, minds and bodies unite.
Words can be simple, instructions often not.
Some can build a future, most just forgot.
I claim no bias; I share what’s been seen.
I note what I’ve heard, the answers in between.
Not everyone with wealth has money.
Not all are as sweet as honey.
Most work hard and stay in one place.
Some open doors with the smile on their face.
While some are truly brilliant, some are not so bright.
Most are simply average, some see the light.
Happiness is free, misery has a cost.
Choose the right direction and never feel lost.
I don’t think I’m old, though getting up in years.
I’ve had my share of laughter and shed many tears.
I write every day and I try not to preach.
But to share your love with others nothing’s out of reach.
Awaiting a shells fateful date,
eggs alone beat in wait.
When a pair scrambles to meet,
futures fertile swim to greet.
Pairs joined to each a share,
new is made over easy with care.
Hatched a recipe for pure delight,
sliding from heat, home plate’s in sight.
Yet time fragile, forking’s no joke,
bad luck befallen bound by yoke.
Getting fried never rehearsed.
And the wait answers which came first.
A poet doomed I’ve started believe’n.
The odds it seems much better than even.
T’was born on an even day, month and year.
And I’m a Libra to boot, if you care.
An INFP, I think that means I feel stuff.
And if that alone wasn’t enough,
I’m fair of skin, odd of weight and six feet even.
A poet doomed and my name’s even Steven.
Hi, I’m the me you can’t see.
I’m the me that’s stuck in me.
The other me is the me you see.
That’s not the me that’s this me.
I know it’s hard to see,
this me that’s the real me.
Is the real me the me you see,
or the stuck me waiting to be free.
That’s the me you don’t see.
The other me too doesn’t see me.
That me thinks they’re all to see.
That me doesn’t know me.
Other than me the other me is free.
The other me speaks the words of we.
The words of me are only to see,
words of me that set me free.
Counting the days till days don’t count,
there’ll be no worries or any doubt.
There’s never to be a frown or a pout.
I could stay in or I can go out.
Counting the days for my time to sprout,
I’ll get up late with nothing to think about.
I can be really quite or scream and shout.
I’ll always be mellow and never freak out.
Counting the days to assume some clout,
each moment’s new with adventures to scout.
Destinations will be celebrations to tout.
The sun will shine with or without
Counting the days thought getting stout.
All will be friends, but for the lout.
I’ll need no maps and never to rout.
I’m never locked in or lucked out.
Counting days before the days run out,
when never a tear or ever a drought.
Choices all mine, all else to flout.
And blessings counted before checking out.
I’m sick of heartbreak; it’s time to move past.
But this isn’t a love poem, that’d be too fast.
I won’t be pondering heaven or hell.
So where does a recovering poet dwell.
Whether writers block or writer’s cramp,
a king of yore or disheveled tramp,
I’ve a reign of reams at my command.
I’ve time and space in my hand.
I’ve a rocket ship that’s faster than light.
I dance with spirits in the night.
I’ve helmed a ship through stormy seas,
wrestled a friend in a hive of bees.
I’ve felt love and feel it missed.
A new day’s today and sunshine kissed.
And though this poem has no middle or end,
it’s a blip in cyberspace, again to send.
Woe is me and you,
joy’s reserved for just a few.
Enjoy what you do.
The Way Today
A day without love
is lonely, love yourself and
never be alone.
A poet is a
romantic who thinks too much
and love blinds when seen.
One shouldn’t settle so not to wait.
Fair’s not fair and good’s not great.
Red flags fly so not too late.
Half a heart can’t seal a fate.
Days pass with us or without.
Some have promise, some doubt.
Some will whisper some will shout.
Some things felt, some thought about.
We all have faults, some have two.
Some have more, some quite a few.
So know your own, that’ll do.
Then you know what’s best for you.
Strokes broad and canvas wide,
pros and cons help decide.
Time tells us we cannot hide.
Our choices made; behind or beside.
I worry about writing, I worry when not.
I worry too much, I worry a lot.
The past I feel and the future I see.
Factor’s deduced and nothing’s free.
Can it be afforded, an unknowable time?
Can life be spent on rhythm and rhyme?
Can I feel without getting hurt?
Can I grow without eating dirt?
Chained to my pen, the outside looms.
In dusty volumes this life entombs.
Can pages torn be chapters shared?
If a binding’s broke should fate be dared?
Sheets to the wind, covers tossed.
My quill floats off, I am lost.
Paces excel and alter trips forgot.
Will the sunshine burn, I worry a lot.
Can you hear it, it’s all around?
The mind is still, there’s not a sound.
Eyes see there’s nothing new.
But change felt, the outside’s blue.
The darkest hours now muted.
Beating seconds, time’s diluted.
In my heart the view less shaded.
In my soul the hue’s faded.
Digging deep to find the light,
shadows shorten out of sight.
Echo’s silent, notes scream.
Good nights calling, again to dream.
I’m starting to feel better, not there yet.
Answers I need but questions I get.
Who am I and what’s next?
Right now I’m tired, cranky and perplexed.
The day’s new, the sun’s yet to rise.
Doubts abound but no surprise.
Time has dealt an iffy hand.
Do I fold or do I stand?
Decks stacked with shuffled years,
never straight, too few pairs.
Confusion reigns and I’m the king.
Does a queen await, will we sing?
Love’s been felt and then lost.
Betting hearts has a cost.
There’ll be no diamonds anytime soon.
Spades have dug, my mind’s strewn.
Life’s no game and love’s no joke.
The clubs have beaten, my bank’s broke.
But play I must every day.
While aces I wait to come my way.
Fuel and breath will feed a flame.
When the smoke clears is it the same?
Can a fire rekindle without a spark?
Can we trust when left in the dark?
Do words of promise reignite a heart?
Will worry engulf from the state?
Answers bellow questions unknown,
two hearts and minds to choose alone.
If a torched doused without care,
can this match relight the flair?
I’ve decisions to make, but not decide.
Who will share my fireside?
Trapped in a shell fragile and weak,
the mind open, lips leak.
Hands scribe screams unheard.
Hearts echo every word.
The past flows, futures dribble.
The when’s now the head scribbles.
Cracks appear with thoughts to speak.
Trapped in a shell the darkness is bleak.
But the light is sensed without eyes.
Truth is felt through the lies.
Shells hatch and something grows.
And that’s the way the story goes.
Free will gives us choices.
Souls sort and weigh.
Lust fills in the blanks.
Feet tap another day.
When the fates of two collide,
change is felt together.
When hearts and minds align,
pairs will love forever.
When one of four is askew,
time will corrode and sever.
Love is not a slam dunk.
The heart and mind know never.
I promise you all it’s coming soon,
a poem I’ll write with no doom and gloom.
Spring will come and blossoms will bloom,
profoundly imagined locked in winter’s room.
Winters, like life, always end in demise.
Love again felt will brighten the skies.
Clouds will float and not obscure,
every breath’s a pleasure and pure.
Summer’s warmth brings the touch of skin.
Icy hearts thaw from deep within.
The hues of fall paint our ground.
A canvas of white offers promise all around.
Beyond the Glass
My windows are closed.
The air cold and leaves fallen.
Yet birds sing somewhere.
With the glue of two,
broken hearts can mend anew.
Or someone gets stuck.
is much like one hand clapping,
All are born with a pocketful of change.
Quantity’s irrelevant, it’ll all rearrange.
Heads or tails is all we’re to find.
We face our truths or lie behind.
Standing tall, shiny and bright,
how many tosses to land upright?
How many flips and wobbles and spins
or hands slapped and someone wins.
We can add and subtract, save or spend.
Though the odd’s even it just depends.
Change can jingle or bear the weight of earth.
What is shared counts our worth.
Nothing is as it was.
Why make it harder just because?
Forward is as forward does.
Our feet lead to where from was.
Where’s many, was once just because.
The forward is as the forward does.
With love in one’s heart each day a new start.
The hurts endured and more is lured.
When one’s face to the light the burn blinds sight,
but warmth’s the start off a thawing heart.
With love in one’s heart each day a new a start.
When reality’s behind tomorrow’s to find.
Optimism prevails when pain derails.
And negative’s a restart for the love in one’s heart.
Sleepy eyes look to the skies,
I see all is bright.
A sleepy head soon off to bed,
whispers an unheard goodnight.
For love that beams, now it seems,
is shrouded from the light.
The moon does glow but tomorrow will go,
then to rise again another night.
Dreams awake from visions take.
And reality blurs my sight.
As reality is just yesterday’s fizz,
a cocktail of frivolity, felicity and fright.
Lids now subdued, some are screwed.
But I’ve slept before and I toss and turn alright.
Then from my tussled bed with foggy head,
I’ll rise again, again I’ll fight.
Can too much love fry the heart?
Is ambivalence a better start?
Should feelings felt be feelings shared?
Is honesty worth being dared?
Questions fill a weary mind.
Answers wear when yet to find.
Love’s expression layers with age.
Armor veils buried rage.
Shells cracked and inners ooze.
Emotions scrambled much to lose.
The future presses and some left flat.
Some beat up and leave it at that.
Resilience springs with a bounce.
Reflections sparkle or they pounce.
And time tells just one thing.
Seconds pass and some will sing.