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Thoughts
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Thoughts locked in transparent time warp
Struggle and search for an outlet.
Agonizing effort to render expression,
Lapse into gnawing, frustrated silence.
Moments earlier, a single thought
Crystallizes into unfragmented clarity,
Sinks back into an abyss of grey matter,
Suffocated by wandering mind clutter.
Multicolored patterns ebb and flow,
Aimlessly, without purpose or reason,
Fluttering a boat on silent wings
Into a gulf stream of infinity.
Because it’s gone, it’s lost,
Never again to be recalled
Or formed into the uttered word,
But, did it ever really matter?
Summer’s Gone
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Strung out and “V’d” against the sky,
They honk out a noisy farewell.
Magnificent sight in early morning’s light,
They’ll fly over hill and dale.
No clock or calendar tells them —
Their flight plans long-since laid.
Stroking determined wings in flight, day and night,
Until their journey’s made.
Winter’s coming. It’s kind of sad
As they wing their way down south.
They’ll return when the weather warms,
And a smile will again adorn my mouth.
Autumn Leaves
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Father Time once again waves his wand,
Signaling season’s change.
Warm, sunny days surrender quietly
To oncoming snow and rain.
Leaves of multicolor profusion
Play tag upon the wind.
Her arms spread wide, Mother Earth
Awaits patiently for their flight to end.
Carried haphazardly by the winds
And scattered all around.
The winds die down, while leaves still fall,
Fluttering to the ground.
Mother Earth nurtured the trees that gave leaves birth,
Now she will stop and rest.
The leaves will decompose
In time to nurture Mother Earth.
Tree limbs now bare
Move in the wind like long but skinny whips.
Words take shape
And blend on the poet’s lips.
When leaves do fall and the wild goose calls
Backward from the fold,
Brings foreboding melancholy
Creeping o’er my soul.
Unknown to many,
Father Time has his secret reasons.
Falling leaves are just one way
He signals the changing seasons.
My life’s companion strolls beside me
Through the crisp, cold breeze.
We both exalt in season’s change
As we crunch through Autumn Leaves.
Together At Last
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
We’ve traveled many miles,
Both you and I,
Always searching
For when and why.
Our pathways meandered
In different directions,
Overcoming many obstacles,
Mixed with objections.
Dark clouds and emotions
Fulfilled our days,
As we struggled along
Our own separate ways.
The hunger never died,
Instead it actually grew,
Propelling us forward
As life turned its screw.
Let others hoot and moan
Their pitiful dirge,
Because, by mere chance,
Our pathways did merge.
Together we stand
As a powerful shield,
Radiating sunshine’s rays
Which we both wield.
What’s mine is yours;
What’s yours is mine.
We know “who” we are;
Let the others mark time.
Let’s not say forever,
Who can fathom that deep?
Today is enough…
Forever ours to keep.
Let Me See, Too!
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Heart renderings poured into word-weaver’s mold
Is the poet’s bent,
Striving to paint a picture
And give the words some tint.
Overwork not the adjectives.
Adverbs wisely use.
Inverted sentences,
Please do not abuse.
Literary critics, established,
Sometimes blind,
Cut and rend, omit and blend —
How dare we waste their time!
Describe then an ocean blue,
Green of stately tree,
A bird in flight, dark of night,
So that I, too, might see.
Then change colors on the brush,
Paint with unwavering pen,
Color falling rain, misery or pain,
Then paint the wind.
Squeeze those words, twist them tight.
Turn them inside out.
Make the painting clear as light.
Make the message shout!
Make the picture come alive.
Strip away the veil.
Let my fingers see it, too,
As they trace the upraised Braille.
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.
Tribulation
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Days of turbulence, tempest tossed,
Ability to think, reason, logic lost.
No peace, wars, unfounded fears,
Hunger abounds, homeless, flowing tears.
Scripture disregarded, rights ignored,
Pervasive living, greed, joy ignored.
Foretold from ancient past, no attention paid,
Foundations crumbling, destructive path all laid.
Continue onward then, soul closed to light,
Ignore the homeless, hungry masses, struggling in life’s fight.
Close eyes and ears in ignorance, ignore the coming shock.
Look not for the Good Shepherd, coming for His flock.
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.
wfosterwelborn 