Winter Time

Winter time is here;
supposedly to bring good cheer,
where I will sit with my warm mug,
and think upon yesteryear

Time has brought change,
and old man winter has led me astray,
into the depths of my soul;
this is where I will grow old,

with the wisdom of poets,
and philosophers from the past;
they are the ones I feel a kinship with,
and at last I can breath in a sigh of relief;
the cold and it's chill is a welcome blast


Have we not strayed,
far, from the naturalness of things
forgotten the names of wildflowers,
and the taste of their nectar
Engulfed in robotic life,
nature is an escape, not fully immersed in,
but a mini vacation, taken on weekends,
where the office still plays its part

Have we not strayed,
far, from the nakedness of things,
where the rim of the moon, dangles,
dipped below the sky, with its sootiness,
among the night and twinkling stars
The milky way beckons,
yet we fail to admire the mystery of it all

Have we not strayed,
far, from spring fields;
summer sands; fall leaves,
and winter flakes

I dare say we have,
yet I feel they're drawing me,
inward towards their comfort
and inner circle, where at last,
I shall remember their names

The corn field, its husks,
the lilac groves, and perfumed lots,
where tulips sway and roses dance
The mooing cow, lowing sheep;
the butterflies' wings,
the hummingbird's beats

Let me never stray again,
remembering that I am part,
of the larger picture -
let me never forget the sounds of the universe


Take my sight
upon eyes shut tight;
know that all is but hollow blight
Where a kiss is not a kiss,
a hug, but empty arms -
all around is meaningless mime,
each one imitating time;
with their ticks and tocks,
like a clock, they eke out the day,
where moments around them slay,
and precious lives are lost to the fray;
a shell, of hollow clay

Take my love,
within hearts sealed tight,
against thine heavenly light,
that seeks to split their metal coif -
in weeping so, let moisture soak,
their spongy innards, artificially cloaked;
an imitation has stolen away,
all they claim, they've inherited today
yet, I know that which drives them so -
the hollowness, of life's frail woes

Goodbye My Friend

I saw you there, among the crowd, of lost beings;
wandering, searching, for morsels of food and a warm bed
I scooped you up, as your eyes searched mine,
I knew right then and there, we were kindred fires;
souls upon this earth, together for 18 years

As you purred and stretched out there beside me,
both of us, no longer had any fears
Fate saw fit to bring us together,
where we'd have many miles,
to wade through the vicissitudes of life;
you made it all worth the while

 Now, you're gone, but no longer in pain,
the disease had wracked you at the end;
life knew, there'd be no more to gain,
so death swooped in to relieve the guilt,
so I'd know, I did everything for my friend,
to let him go peacefully at his life's end

 I love you TC. My wonderful pet. Rest in peace.

It's Not A Wonderful Life

Tax evaded; you've strayed,
where they'll scope you out,
like a spy on steroids,
until you pay up - as if you haven't enough

The cycle of life repeats,
as time eats his children for monthly bills -
This is not a spontaneous existence;
it's circular drudgery, as the last man,
marches to the beat of a psychopathic drum

The lone survivor; the descendant of creativity,
stands ready to jump ship to the next planet;
there, a home awaits among oblivion,
where time will no longer crave souls

Something to be Thankful For

Delicate gold leaves, skim past me,
in a rush of cool breezes -
they tickle my cheek in playful melodies,
like a bow to violin strings

Creative harmonies wrap my mind,
in a rush of symphonic memories;
nature remembers freedom, I don't,
but the gift is there for the taking

The present of creativity,
wrapped in November thankfulness,
as I sit to eat of the seed-bearing plants;
the animals will sit this one out

I'll be thankful for empathy,
insight and an intuitive mind,
that bears the weight of poetry -
that's worth saying a prayer for, this thanksgiving


In your misery,
you cannot see the history
playing out in your life,
like a song on repeat

Anger, seething underneath,
because you refuse to address the issues,
that caused the problem in the first place

Published at the Poet Community