poetry

Trying

The harder I try, the harder it seems,

I’ve wasted much, reams and reams.

I’ve tried writing of infinity but couldn’t find an end.

Tried to write of society though I couldn’t offend.

~

I tried to write of death, can’t write in the dark.

Tried writing of youth but lost the spark.

Scribbled of sorrow, tears cleansed the sheets.

Dribbled of conquest but I had no feats.

~

I tried to write of time, that didn’t last.

Wrote of the future, thought of the past.

I’ve written coldly until my lips turned blue.

So I wrote of warmth and penned volumes for you.

~

My heart’s now thawed, boiling blood rises to brain.

Bleeding emotion doesn’t have to cause pain.

A trying life’s journey is what’s inked of late.

Perhaps it is now I’m writing of fate.

 

*

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Rekindling

Amiss the spark that kindles slight

Drowned ablaze in airless fright

Volumes of ash on which to write

Cloaked in smoky forever night

Darkness fogs the wearies sight

Blinding jabs will lose the fight

Gentle touch soothes body’s plight

Awake to arms, hearth burns bright

Rejoice to stars and cool of night

Fires of light and warmth burn right

Colors return from black and white

Rekindled flame of two hearts delight

Sparks anew on celestial flight

 ~

The End

*

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Dream me a Dream

Dream me a dream of forever nights

When the one you desire comes into sight

Touching this heart most tenderly

Embraced are we in love’s poetry.

 ~

Dream me a dream of forever days

Together our visions cut through the haze

Freeing the mind of all that was feared

When Poetic embrace is forever shared

 ~

Dream me a dream of walking together

Sharing our love of ink and feather

Floating away in the dreams we desire

Where poetic hearts share words to inspire

~

Dream me a dream where dreams I’ll not need

Dream me a dream where my heart doesn’t bleed

Where a dream never ends or departs

Residing forever, a place in my heart

*

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FOREST OF HELL

Colorless leaf crackle beneath sole-less feet.

The smell of death lingers sweet.

Bramble thick draws blood on paper skin,

digging more deeply the deeper within.

 *

Then starlight fades to the darkness I fear,

moonlight shadows disappear.

Columns abound supporting endless night,

numbers multiply consuming the light.

 *

Welcome dew hangs heavy in unseen air,

to drink deep I do not dare.

Outstretched hands replace teary useless eyes.

Senses heightened, alert of endless cries.

 *

Vibrations of night; soft, loud, far and near,

distant from all that we all hold dear.

Wanting now only to curl-up and weep,

my soul is still for the sickle to reap.

 *

Return to the path I lost yesterday,

blackness turns slowly to gray.

Long nights journey in the forest of hell,

surviving unscathed except for my shell.

 *

The End

*

 SKittell c.2014

Goldies Luck

~

There once were three bears living in the wood.

A small happy family, their life was good.

While out one day picking berries to munch,

a boy chanced by their cabin smelling of lunch.

.

He knocked on the door but no answer returned.

So he walked right in for the meal he yearned.

First he saw a fish stew with fins and a tail,

till luckily finding jellies and honey in a pail.

.

A feast this sweet thought he cannot be ignored,

so he nibbled, dribbled, slurped and then snored.

He woke sometime later with his teddy close by.

He thought it a dream till Teddy said “Hi”

.

The boy tried getting up to run for the door

But sleeping in honey made him stick to the floor

The little bear giggled and papa was mad.

Mama bear unstuck him and the little boy’s glad.

.

Then he’s off to the tub to scrub off the goo.

His lips staying stained a bright jelly blue.

He then cuddled by a fire feeling warm and dry.

While mama finds a recipe for a golden top pie.

.

After their lunch the bunch are full once more.

The little ones dashed to the forest to explore.

The boy returned stung by bees, wasps and fleas,

with scrapes and bruises on his hands and knees.

.

There’s dirt and rashes covering the rest,

that poor little boy was quite a mess.

He then nursed with care by the big mama bear,

while papa bear dozes in his huge favorite chair.

.

The little cub sent to finds some PJ’s to wear.

Then it’s time to sleep in a bed they all share.

After weeks of bear life the food made him ill.

Yet bears have no doctors or get well pill.

.

Papa bear knew what had to be done.

So to town he ventured with the rising sun.

The boy held secure, they arrived near noon.

Police with guns surrounded them soon.

.

The bear roared “Don’t shoot, I mean no harm.”

The little boy wiggled his weak little arm.

The shooters stood down till help arrived.

Watchful eyes waited for the boy to be revived.

.

Papa soon freed, went home and lived well.

The boy recovered then surely caught hell.

All knew the boy lucky surviving this time,

though chances golden when writing the rhyme.

.

And as with all tales there’s a lesson taught,

That running away won’t find what’s sought.

And if you chance a bear on some future journey,

good luck to you and say hello for me.

~*~

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Jingle Writer

I want to be a jingle writer, write jingles every day.

I want to be a jingle writer, jingles all the way.

I want to be a jingle writer ‘cos there’s bills to pay.

I want to be a jingle writer, not much more too say.

*

I want to be a jingle writer and work from my backyard.

I want to be a jingle writer, poets work too hard.

I want to be a jingle writer, don’t understand avant-garde.

I want to be a jingle writer, no need to be a bard.

*

I want to be a jingle writer and put my tools to use.

I want to be a jingle writer, write short and loose.

I want to be a jingle writer; I’ll be no Dr. Seuss.

I want to be a jingle writer until I’m cut from the noose.

*

The End

Beach Day

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Tomorrow’s to be the best day.

A day of sunshine, swim and play.

Must get to sleep, morning is near.

We’ll wake early, much to prepare.

*

Eat breakfast, find my pail and rake.

Great big castles of sand we’ll make.

Pack cooler with lunch, bring a hat.

Bags for towels and this and that.

~

Morning has come, wide open eyes.

Hoping for those clear blue skies.

It must be early, sky’s still gray.

Maybe I woke on the wrong day.

*

Waited all winter, now’s in reach,

sunny day of fun at the beach.

Went back to bed, nothing to do.

Closed my eyes then the sun shined through.

~

Jumped out of bed, day’s second chance.

Brush my teeth and put on short pants.

Ran downstairs for breakfast and more,

a surprise friend waits at my door.

*

We all got packed into the car.

Hoping the drive won’t be too far.

Wheels turn, were almost there.

Windows open, I smell the sea air.

~

Pull in the lot, our fun begins.

Unpack the car, pull out the bins.

We carry the bags, two for each.

Umbrellas up, blanket on beach.

*

Cooler wheels stuck in the sand.

Dad asked me to lend him a hand.

We’re all set up, time to explore.

There’s much to do at the seashore.

~

We hurry down to take our dips.

First toes then knees, up to hips.

The water’s cold, we jumped back out.

To thick towels we run and shout.

*

My fingers wrinkle, lips turn blue.

The sunshine’s warming me and you.

Sand’s sticking to my wet swimsuit.

Mom gets lunch; sandwich, drink and fruit.

~

Our feast is done, time to play ball.

Huffing and puffing, shared by all.

We blew it up then threw it high.

Caught by the wind, kept by the sky.

*

Grab our shovels, pile the sand.

Moats and towers, kings of this land.

Then waves came in with a crash.

Hours to build, gone in a splash.

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Now we’ll find some big new sea shells.

Some are flat some shaped like bells.

Some you hear the sea in your ear.

Some will have things living in there.

~

Sifting for treasure in the sands.

Time slipping through our small wet hands.

We keep the best in a small sack.

To be explored when we get back.

*

Now let’s try the water again.

First you go then I’ll jump right in.

Dive and swim, watch seaweed float by.

Then the sun sank low in the sky.

~

We all go home, skin pink, eyes red.

Take a cool bath then off to bed.

Going to sleep dreaming of more,

a day at the beach is best – I’ m sure!

*

The End

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None Today

~

There’ll be no daily sonnet today.

Thought has wandered and gone astray.

Nimble quill won’t dance on parchment bare,

seducing lonely on table near.

 

The well is dry from which I must drink.

Chair is empty were journeys to think.

No inky tears shed, blotted or smeared.

No blackened hands bloodied and feared.

 

Letters scrambled all over my mind.

Their chosen order I cannot find.

Brittle wax puddle proves candles death.

The darkness swallows my daylights breath.

 

Blindness shackles a masked and heavy head.

I shrink into my unwanted bed.

Heart and soul content for tomorrow.

When ink, I hope, once more will flow

~*~

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Why

Why do writers write,

why do lovers fight,

why the lonely night?

`

Why do we ask why,

why must we say good bye,

why must we even try?

`

Why do demons taunt,

why do ghosts haunt,

why does beauty flaunt?

`

Why do dragons fly,

why’s the moon so high,

why does all life die?

`

Why dream of things afar,

why does life leave a scar,

why is why who we are.

`

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Age

Childhood

Suckled, cherished and warm

Blissful frolic to pimpled storm

Time ticks slow then runs fast

Stumbling blind from the past

Experiments with our alien form

*

Youth

Hormone gales cloud the brain

Life is long, much to gain

Time inhibits, much to do

Carefree hands become too few

Past and future collide, no refrain

*

Mid-Life

Inhibitions shrink

Time enables all to think

Second chance ambitions grow

Hands move fast, body slow

Pass the clock with a wink

*

Seniority

Hands of time toil half the day

The other, gravity has its way

Seeds of time sown with care

Golden harvest – time to share

Leaves fall, memories stay

**

The End

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Lessons

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The more costly the watch the freer the time

The louder the song the looser the rhyme

Turn on the light half the world’s dark

Smell the gas we see with a spark

Life in a bubble called atmosphere

Poking holes without a care

Drink deep from fragile stemmed glass

Candlelit dreams with time to pass

To guess and be wrong a zero gain bet

The higher the proof the more wrong we get

To prove the proof a wasted equation

Pens against bombs can never be won

Words in the air unheard over fuss

Numbers on paper not to discuss

Lessons of life shared by all; never stand, never fall

Never swim, never sink, never thirst, never drink

Always bright much unseen, blind to details in-between

Never laugh, never weep, never dive unless it’s deep

Never leap in the melting caps ice

A lesson we can never learn twice

The End

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To Write

towrite

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

~*~

 

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Questions

Which came first?

The egg or the hen, children or men,

now or then, the poet or the pen?

What comes last?

The future or the past, rising high or sinking fast,

a little fizzle or mighty blast, a crumpled sketch or final cast?

What is the end?

Goodbye to a cherished friend, a straight path or twist and bend,

a love note always meant to send, a dark void to descend

or love, joy and happiness to share and to lend?

These questions are the same for all but our answers will depend.

The End or Beginning

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Cloudy Ceiling

Dirty windows rattle overhead.

Broken switch won’t turn off dread.

A flower cart sleeps with gray canopy.

Blue hides beyond infinity.

`

Tiny world, walls surround.

Door jambs swell, I am bound.

The smaller my cube the more I pick.

Yet droplets spill without a lick.

`

Hunger consumes wasted words.

Cupboards cluttered with thirsty birds.

Procrastination wears heavy on my floor.

Stained and crumpled dreams clutter more.

`

Showers will come. The well will fill.

Current flows once still.

Walls disappear. Windows clear.

The beyond invites, if I dare.

`

The End

`

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