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Thoughts About Life

It is said that words written on desert sands can be seen on the morrow, borne on desert winds.

Words of secrecy should never be spoken in the night, for sounds travel easier in the dark than in the light.

Speak of no confessions by a pond or lakeside for words travel quickly over water, heard easily on the other side.

Keep well your promises for they have strings much stronger than steel, anchored to your conscience. Break one, and your conscience will be unbalanced and hurt all the days of your life.

To err is human, to forgive divine.

Having to do neither one ever is paradise.

Rodeo Clown

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

He ran a gnarled hand

Through silver-streaked hair.

Arthritis caused pain,

Anguish and despair.


This year, he’d quietly

Turned age sixty-two.

His days as a clown

Were long since through.


Memories flooded back,

Playing tag with his mind,

Back through the years

To a much younger time.


Back then, he was the best…

The most agile around.

Someone better with bulls

Just couldn’t be found.


Rubbing his neck idly,

He gave a soft sigh.

Back then, he could rodeo,

Drink and tell lies.


He could jump over a bull’s rump,

Stop him dead in his tracks,

Then turn him aside

With a quick-handed whack.


He’d sure made it look easy.

There was never a school

To teach rodeo clowns

How to handle mean bulls.


Many a hard-riding cowboy

Was thrown high to fall flat.

They owed their health to the clown,

Plus a tip of the hat.


Many of those cowboys,

Rising up from the ground,

Will ride once again,

All thanks to the clown.


He makes it look so easy

While with danger he’ll flirt,

Keeping bull riders

From both injury and hurt.


The next time the rodeo

Comes into your town,

Watch over the action

Of the rodeo clown.


Maybe you’ll see

Another one there,

Running a pain-filled hand

Through his silvery hair.


There’s a twinkle in his eye —

His interest honed keen.

He’s watching the clowns

And the bull riding scene.


He’ll be wearing

An invisible crown

Because once he was king

Of the rodeo clowns.


This poem is in Autumn Leaves:


Peace be with you,

My thoughts unwind,

But…I knew you elsewhere,

From a distant time.


Though it seems but yesterday,

Still it’s been a long, long while,

Something hauntingly familiar,

My thoughts beguile.


Memories sometimes lapse,

But time cannot disguise,

I believe it was your smile,

Not your laughing eyes.


No words spoken here,

Nor lofty man-made towers.

Simple use of thought exchange —

No clock to chime the hours.


Corridors of time are hazy.

Dust covers her ancient fold.

Recollections thwart and tease

In this timeless mold.


Pardon my intrusion

Into your hallowed space.

Forgive my poor conclusion,

But…I never forgot your face.


Timeless memories the past can blur,

Yet never to erase

Our footprints o’er paths we walked,

Another time…another place.


Thoughts we shared, flowers touched,

As we made our way.

Soft words exchanged, feelings passed,

Fragrance lingering where we lay.


Enraptured by you still,

Forever I’ll repose.

Would you linger her a while,

My spiritual, timeless rose?





Boring Words

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


Mumbo, Jumbo! Mumbo, Jumbo!

Monotone; loud and clear,

Bouncing off hallowed walls,

Bouncing off my ear.


Ears hear the words, but then,

They don’t really listen.

There are words and words, piled on top of words,

Yet the message is somehow missing.


To class you go, anticipation aglow,

Completely, academically gird.

Oh, Boy! What joy! You hear words,

And words, on top of words.


Momma Bear and the Clown

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:


Momma Bear spoke so softly,

“You know, I’ve seen you around.

I’ve been waiting for someone just like you.

Please, don’t make a sound.”


“If you’ll just listen quietly,

I’ll tell you how I feel.

Just look down deep into my eyes.

You’ll see my feeling’s real.”


“I know you’re usually laughing,

But I see you’re sad inside.

Because I feel true vibrations,

Emotions you can’t hide.”


“Come stay with me for awhile,

And I’ll soothe your aches and pains.

I’ll brighten the spots on your face,

And really make you smile.”


The clown looked at Momma Bear,

His heart like pick-up sticks.

Caution weaved through his mind,

‘Cause bears and clowns don’t mix.


He gazed into her large brown eyes.

Her love came shining through.

He dwelled languorously there

In limpid pools of sunshine and skies of blue.


The end begins here with words,

Yet not a single sound.

Listen carefully to laughter’s merry peals.

Smile — it’s just Momma Bear and her Clown.


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!”

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.

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.


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.

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