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Vulnerability
This thought comes from Autumn Leaves:
We are all vulnerable,
But to what level
Depends on the depth
Of our faith.
Young Again
This poem is in Autumn Leaves:
Pleasingly spread at forty-five,
No longer part of your dreams,
Nor is the way you bulge out
And cram those designer jeans.
Now you wish a new sensation…
To belong to the “Pepsi” generation.
You watch young ladies bending on the tube,
Jazzercizing without cessation.
The night belongs to Michelob;
Young lovers walk the street.
You bend, twist, and sweat
To a frenzied beat.
Madison Avenue ad men
Use every gambit to get you to try it.
Out comes the faithful MasterCard,
And you’re on another diet.
At last, here you stand so shapely,
I’d say a perfect ten.
If you don’t work hard daily,
That old five’ll sneak back again.
Regardless of the outcome,
I’ll still be around,
To support you in your efforts
And love your every pound.
Dreamwalk
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Softly, I’m borne away on quiet, muffled wings
Of a beautiful butterfly which only I am privileged to see.
Gorgeous multicolored wings gracefully lift me like a feather,
Bringing my spirit to that very special sanctuary
Which is filled with rainbows, solitude and, of course, dreams.
Here in this special place,
My imagination paints only with soft colors.
Each tree, shrub, vine or plant produces fruits
And flowers in the seasons of my dreams.
Birds of every species and color grace tree and shrub.
They dart here and there, affording hours of pleasure to the eye.
The soft, sweet music of their song carried on the fragrant air
Brings solace to the inner soul.
The heart is light, dancing from sheer exuberance!
Here in my special place, fish bite when fished for,
And grain or fruit grows in abundance when seeds are planted.
Rushing or hurry are strictly forbidden,
And time stands still on command.
Dreams occur in Technicolor, and fantasies are commonplace.
My unfettered imagination is in complete control,
Able to travel into open and distant space instantly.
In my mind, I can visit any continent, country, city or place
At a snap of my fingers.
Here, any desire can achieve satisfaction
As soon as it’s realized and identified,
Without worry, pain or regret.
Should none of my earthly desires satisfy,
Then my inner spirit can be nourished
Through simple, quiet, relaxing thought patterns.
Peaceful, serenity reigns in assurance that all is well
And under complete control of my consciousness.
When Love Dies
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
Words spoken in anger,
Forever enshrined.
Feelings mixed and scattered,
Emotions entwined.
Feelings torn asunder.
Thoughts agitated, grieved.
Words like darts, festering wounds,
Through time unrelieved.
No peace of heart,
Corrosive, eroded…
Flame burned out,
Tranquillity exploded.
Grapes dry out,
Dying on the vine.
Clouds blot the sun,
Pain heals with time.
Beauty of the rose
Fades away and dries,
Like love when it withers,
Is tortured, and dies.
Love
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
Love, like a garden, needs vigilant weeding.
Love, like a fire, requires constant feeding
To keep it in order and burning brightly.
Love, harsh words can often shatter.
Love, which wrong action can tatter,
But sharing and compromise bind it tightly.
Love is not honored by corridors of time.
Love requires daily attention to make grow sublime,
And words spoken in haste bring feeling contritely.
Love is soft spoken, building no dissension.
Love is feelings and touching, with full comprehension.
Many words often lose their savor; use sparingly, but nightly.
Feelings
This poem appears in Autumn Leaves:
Feelings are but thought extension
Placed into feeble expression,
Sometimes poured out through touch or deed,
Or even mumbled confession.
Feelings are but emotions and desires,
Surfacing into reality,
Striving to achieve dreamed of destiny
Or to quench love’s raging fires.
Expressing them is often difficult,
Like handling fishhooks wearing gloves.
Overpowering, they sometimes help
With insistent, nudging shoves.
As one’s soul is purged by confession,
We learn a most valued lesson–
Our world would be painted shades of gray
Without our efforts at expression.
wfosterwelborn 