Blog Archives
I Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda
This thought comes from Autumn Leaves:
I Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda
And a horse named Opportunity
Gallops off into the sunset
Carrying an empty saddle!
Artist
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Paint with strokes of love,
Brush warmth of summer sun,
Birds fluttering all about,
And clear, blue skies above.
Paint happy trees, merry streams,
Stroke in children’s laughter,
Happy dogs and cats,
Lemon light of drowsy dreams.
Stroke in cool, green grass,
Quiet, existing limpid pools,
Browns of a robust mountain;
Blend them like sands in an hourglass.
Paint no sadness on life’s canvas,
Her presence already abounds;
Life is loaded with her morass,
So…just paint in happy sounds.
Flight
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
To move unfettered in air so rare and pure,
Beneath or above endless banks of clouds.
Unshackled to soar in mind and spirit
To remove earth’s burdensome shroud.
Could an eagle speak, would he
Hold us in contempt or in utter disdain,
Poor earth-bound creatures, animals of habit,
Foul air, daily tasks mundane.
Spread mighty silver wings,
Soar above the patch-work quilt pattern below.
Fly softly, free spirited,
But fly reverently as you go.
Diminished horizons, skies blue and clear,
Atmosphere charged with laughter,
Intangible, invisible
Because other spirits linger here.
To leave earth’s cluttered pull, to explore, to seek,
To know, to find lasting contentment,
To search out the truth of the universe
And to know God is man’s essence and ultimate destiny.
Solitary Rose
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
In a single vase, a rose alone,
No spoken words intone,
But, could it speak, what prose
Would issue forth from this rose?
Surrounded by a snowy wealth,
Tightly nestled in baby’s breath,
Beauty and essence silently unfold.
Ageless message again retold.
Surrendering all, no questions why.
Muted beauty, silent to the eye.
Yet, could it speak real words, too:
“I’m love’s sweet token, just for you!”
The Entity
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Brighter than a falling meteor,
Shorter than an excited breath,
More fleeting than a passing moment,
Faster than a bolt of lightning.
Colder than a frigid arctic blast,
Higher than an eye straining cloud,
Softer than wind-blown thistledown,
Harder than the hardest diamond.
This entity comes quietly, yet quickly.
Lingers softly, burns hotly, turns cold
And leaves faster than it came.
Having brought joy with its arrival,
It now leaves sorrow in its wake.
Not to know it brings emptiness,
And to know it brings joy and bittersweet memories!
Such is this thing known throughout the world as Love…
And stranger still — no one can define it.
Ironic Circle
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
The first men on our shores had freedom,
But little time to truly experience it
As they struggled to make their place and tame this big land.
Building, hunting, foraging, and planting consumed much of their energy,
But they had freedom.
Later, men struggled in chains,
Dying to secure richer lives for their owners.
Throughout their lives of trials and tribulations,
They held to their dreams tenaciously —
Their dreams of freedom.
Later still, men fought and died by the thousands in great wars
To stop tyrants and secure freedom more concretely.
They fought, bled and died to uphold
Our country’s cherished principles,
But these men died, knowing freedom.
Even later, men who knew freedom’s sweetness and blessings
Let it erode because of greed, indifference,
Lust for material wealth and apathy.
Blinded by these pursuits,
They became disillusioned and let it slip away.
Ironic? Yes! Men who realized freedom,
But no time to fully appreciate it.
Men who didn’t have it and could only dream of its possession.
Men who knew it and died fighting to hold it.
Men without vision who let it slip away like a thief in the night.
It’s Not As It Appears
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
From Ming Dynasty
To urbane travesty,
Ancient pyramids,
Ages untold.
Mysteries beneath the sea,
Treasures beyond measure,
Yet all that glitters is not gold.
Old wisdom,
New wisdom,
Colors broken by a prism.
Rainbows cast in a cloudy sky.
Men haggle, question, and reason,
Searching the horizon for why.
A diamond in the rough is not enough.
Infinitesimal reaches of space,
Men scurry and race
To conquer and know the unknown,
Striving to be first,
To quench the unquenchable thirst
Of knowledge —
Or is it greed? —
Which pushes men toward the stars.
The well-worn shoe now cramps the foot.
Radio and television
Have created an invasion
Into history and lifestyles
With forceful persuasion.
Minds spoon-fed such
A diet of sensation
Soon lose innovation
And imagination.
A rose picked from the vine quickly loses its beauty.
Retreat
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Rock-covered water,
Cold, chuckling creek
Splashes, tumbles happily,
Almost lulls me to sleep.
Reclining on green grass,
Warm sun on my face,
Nature working magic
Hectic schedules to erase.
Beauty surrounds me —
All surely heaven sent.
Pine-laden air,
Spruce trees generously lent.
Mind relaxed,
Mountains seem to tower.
Each minute thus spent
Prolongs life by an hour.
Red-tailed hawk above
Surveys this lovely span.
Makes one glad to be alive,
Glad to be a man.
I’ll think with sympathy
Of those left far behind,
Facing traffic snarls,
Smog, or waiting in a line.
But, then, they may like neon lights,
Consider it great fun.
I’ll give them a thought anyway
As I soak up the sun.
wfosterwelborn 