To Wander

My beautiful picture

Photo by Betty Bell Sanders

I’ve seen the world
From the mountain top –
From the tops of trees
Where branches reach
So far above the fray
You only hear the voices
Neath the whisper…
Though I have walked
Along the streams
With dreams
Beneath the ripples
And touched
The virgin muse
On tumbled stones –
I still can taste
The salty breeze
From dawn
Upon the ocean –
To wander
Though —
Still lingers in my bones

Michael33

 

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Though Crows Still Talk

Bodark tree 3

I still can’t see the way beyond
Not mirrored glass nor crystal pond
Reflects the light on restless seas
Though crows still talk… in Bodark trees

If I could capture all their words
Or just remember what I’ve heard
Absorb just half of what they know
From conversations of the crow

Looking yon the morrows light
Through lucid dreams or second sight
Our fate still lingers in the breeze
Though crows still talk… in Bodark trees

Michael33

Gently to the Sea

Gently to the Sea

I have become one of them
Like the breeze becomes the storm
Like raindrops falling softly
Into ripples of the stream
Like melting snow
Flowing gently to the sea
Like teardrops on the parchment
Staining verses left unrhymed…

Perhaps it is only the poet
That stands in the rain
With open arms –
That walks in the fire
To pull another from the fever –
To wander the path
Where others dare not rove
In search of peace

But then…
Perhaps there is a poet
In every one of us –
Perhaps there is poetry
Hidden inside us
Just waiting
To fall upon the page
In one single moment of time
Bringing us all together as one
In peace –
In love –
In the thirst for our grandest desire –
In our most heartfelt gratitude
Of being human…
Like poetry
Upon the parchment
Like melting snow
Flowing gently to the sea

Michael33

Even Angels

Even Angels 2

She stood in silence
Beneath the sweet gum
Struggling to keep
Her swollen eyes
Wide open –
The sound of cathedral bells
Drifting softly
Through morning’s breeze
Though she could not
Find her way
Beyond the shadows…
Afraid to cross the street
While dawn awakens
Fear of something
No one knew
Had lingered in her mind
Something no one knew
That veiled her soul…
She seldom spoke
Of life
Beyond the moment
Nor shared what visions
Hide behind her eyes
Though some had seen
Into her light
She tried to keep inside
But then they shed the tears
She never shared

You’ll see her on the sidewalk
Walking close against the stone
Never leaving shadows
Lest the ravens
Call her home

She may look quite familiar
For she’s often held your hand
When hour glass has emptied
And your hope runs out of sand

So watch for her in shadows
Down the alley
Wet and cold
For sometimes even angels
Need a caring hand to hold

Michael33

When Day is Done

When Day is Done beveled

When Day is Done

Maybe it’s the poetry of rain
Or the echoes of the sound
From a passing distant train
Perhaps it lingers softly
In the hues of setting suns
Or maybe in the dawn
When night is done

Maybe it’s just poetry of pain
Or the visions that are found
On the heart that love has stained
Perhaps it lingers gently
When the ribbons come undone
When flowers find the light
Where there is none

Poets only scribe what’s in their veins
Dreams upon the mountain top
To wander fields of grain
Perhaps the rhyme just whispers
In the hues of setting suns
And lingers in the breeze
When day is done

Michael33

…but that’s alright

but that's alright 1

Chances are –
You’ll never read this…
…but that’s alright
I’m writing it more
To release it from my heart
Than to place it into yours
Though –
If you could only imagine
For one single moment
The countenance upon my face
The longing of my soul to be free
The disquietude of thoughts
Lingering in my weary mind
Perhaps –
I could once again
Fly with the sparrows
From whence I came
Converse with the crows
Upon the hawthorn
Hear the whispers of the universe
Within the silence
Within the peaceful quietude
Of one single moment in time…
Though –
Chances are –
You’ll never read this…
…but that’s alright

Michael33

The Pretense of Poetry

Pretense of Poetry 1

The Pretense of Poetry

So…
Does one just come out and say it –
Confess in the very first paragraph
That he has nothing of value to post?
No prose
No rhyme
No words of wisdom
To share with those
Who have come to understand
His un-normal-ness
His often incoherent blathering
Of words
Of verses
Left lingering tween the lines
Of insanity –
The delusional
Psychotic
Unbalanced mind
On parchment
Under the pretense of
Poetry

While there are those
That would presume
His poetic hand
Scribes
Nothing more than
Simple twaddle
There are the others –
Those who sense
The truth
Between the lines
The subtleties
Of life
Of love
That linger in the rhyme

So…
Does one just come out and say it –
Confess in the very last paragraph
That he has nothing of value to post
No prose
No rhyme
No words of wisdom
To share with those
Who have come
To understand
At least
Some
Of his peculiarities
Scribed
From a tormented mind
With the innocence

Of wisdom
That makes one smile –
That brings a single tear
To fall upon the parchment –
To cause one’s mind
To open
To the hues
Of different shades –
To help one to perceive
That sometimes –
There are no rhymes
That shine their light
Upon our understanding –
For understanding
Often comes
From incoherent blathering
Of words
Of verses
To those who sense
The truth
Between the lines –
By those
Who think they have
Nothing of value to post –
Perhaps nothing more
Than simple twaddle
Left lingering tween the lines
Of insanity-
Under the pretense
Of poetry

Michael33