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Life Styles
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
Bright lights, music shattering to the ears,
Slick talk, designer dress, disco crowd,
Meaningless talk among peers,
Different life style for the young-at-heart.
Four-star restaurant, soft music, silver service,
Opulence to the tenth degree,
Works of art, big mansions, fine cars,
Wealth and life style for all to see.
Eyes downcast, ragged clothes, empty stomach,
No place for a weary head.
Cold streets, lonely hours, empty future,
Lost dreams, no roots, another day of dread.
Life styles of street people and drifters–
Whose dreams and hopes are dead.
Every day, same old thing,
Week in, week out, same routine.
Strength of hand, sweat of brow,
Make the payments on the bills somehow.
Year in, year out, rain or snow–
Life style of the workers who make the country go.
Escape
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Standing by the seaside
One cold, wet, dreary day,
Longing for some warmth and sun,
My thoughts just slipped away.
There on a sleek, white schooner,
Under a blustery sky,
The wind billowed full her majestic sails,
Causing her rigging to sigh.
Dark clouds on the horizon
Signaled an on-coming gale.
With canvas shortened and shoulders bared,
She slashed through the rising swell.
Hands clenched tightly, knuckles white,
As she tacks before the wind,
Then relax once more as she gathers
And rights herself again.
Her deck sways gently beneath me now,
Slipping through the warm Gulf Stream,
Able to dance over white cap and calm–
She’s truly an ocean queen.
Streamlined bodies of Neptune
Frolic in playful behavior
As clean, cold spray stings my face
And nostrils inhale the salty savor.
Over on the port side, an island appears to sight,
Lingering in quiet beauty of early morning light.
I spy a sun-browned body, climbing a stately palm
To gather nature’s bounty–ah, what soothing balm!
“Stop dreaming!” my conscious mind shouts at me,
Invading solitude sublime,
But a tiny voice deep inside answers,
“It’s solace for a work-weary mind.”
It seeks to escape harsh reality,
To regain balance on its beam,
And like a ship without a rudder,
So is man without his dream.
Silent Tribute
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Shrouded mist,
Bagpipe dirge,
Mournful notes
Oe’r heath and verge.
Spirit departs,
Yet not alone,
Presence felt
Although it’s gone.
Last note falls
Like a gentle kiss,
Wafting through
Thickened mist.
Note wears thin,
No longer heard.
Break not this silence
With spoken word.
Things
This thought comes from Autumn Leaves:
That which is truly mine,
You cannot take.
That which you can take
Was only in my possession
On borrowed time.
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.
Tranquillity
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Under stout arms of ancient beech,
Beside placid, looking-glass pool,
Lessons that only nature can teach
In the amphitheater of her school.
Ripples run out from cast-in stone,
Obstructed, lapse into still serenity.
‘Tis music on the ear as lesson travels home.
We find peace, balance, and complete tranquillity.
Brotherhood
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
I’ll never be a big star, shining on millions where they roam,
But I can be a small candlelight in the darkness,
Helping to guide one solitary figure home.
This is the idea behind why I write, for there is always some good idea that is transmitted. Enjoy!
wfosterwelborn 