Blog Archives
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.
Timeless
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?
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.
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.
wfosterwelborn 