Blog Archives
Levels
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Speak diligently, strive hard
Seeking to find
Higher truths, awareness levels…
Always use your mind.
First level, fresh mind,
Everything new, white as chalk.
Learned to speak, began to think,
Slowly learned to walk.
Second Level, awkward years,
Body strong, learning right from wrong.
Having fun, wild free years,
Lackadaisical attitude, trying to belong.
Third Level, maturity, responsibilities,
Striving to fulfill our dreams,
Different places, varied faces,
Drowning in waterless streams.
Fourth Level, yearning yet stable,
Successful, empty, desire burning.
Appreciation of art, beauty, humanity,
Thoughts always churning.
Fifth Level, consciousness abides.
A foreboding feeling,
Something surely missing,
Emptiness, realization stealing.
Sixth Level, words like stone,
Deep impressions stand alone.
A deep, soft voice says, “Welcome,”
Chill inside my bones.
Seventh Level, deep voice, all-wise,
Henceforth and upwards is paradise,
Length, depth and breadth,
Measured with cubic rod.
Speak with praise forevermore,
Wrapped in Love,
Praise His Holy name for
You now speak with GOD!
Awakening
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Tightly closed against morning chill,
Holding essence tight like in-drawn breath,
Waiting for an unknown time
On an invisible clock to steal.
Who can fathom such silent wonder,
But stand in awe and ponder?
Majestic in crawling, slow motion,
Thrilling beauty to overflowing portion.
Arms now unfold in radiant bliss,
Greeting sunshine with a fragrant kiss.
Translucent petals, gorgeous disclose,
Sun’s warm rays now caress the rose.
My Dream
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
I dreamt of hunting buffalo
And long grass shimmering in the sun.
I saw cold, crystal clear mountain streams,
With its banks bordered by wild flowers.
Away up high, almost a speck against the light blue sky,
A bald eagle surveys his realm.
Although it’s spring time in my dream,
The distant, hazy, purple mountains
Still wear their caps of white.
The air is clean and fresh
And filled with the smell of growing things.
The white-trunked aspens
Keep sentinel in their quiet beauty.
Life is simple but hard.
Man fulfilled his dreams by the strength of his hand,
Sweat from his brow, and cunning of his mind.
He became one with his surroundings.
The world was sustained by natural order,
And it was good.
When I awoke,
I realized that I’m but a dinosaur
Transplanted into a modern time and world.
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!”
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 