The Laurel Wreath

The Laurel Wreath 2

The Laurel Wreath

Possessed of poets passed
While at last they have found me
Seated at my desk in introspection…
I have wandered in bare feet
Replete in cerebration
And felt their lonely hearts
While they were breaking…
Yet… nary have I shared the breath
Of the death they had to bear
Before they left to mend
Their wounded souls

They whisper their confessions
As if priests were in my head
The words that they misled upon the page…
Expecting absolution
From confusion of the lectors
Who misconstrued their lonely hearts intent…
Yet… nary have I shared the breath
Nor depth of their perception
That bestowed upon their heads
The laurel wreath

Namasté

Michael33

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Secrets

Secrets

“Secrets”

That Little Voice
    No… not that one…
        The sarcastic one

You should go ahead
And write it on the page…
If you don’t
Your secret will one day
Leap from your heart
And splat upon something
That you wish it had not…
Like an online blog…
Where all three of your followers
Will find it right before their eyes…
And…………….
God forbid…
Reblog it…
For all the world to see

Maybe the time isn’t right…
Perhaps Tuesday would be a better day…
But for heaven’s sake…
Not today…
The world is not prepared
In any way whatsoever
To read your secret…
Such a thing could warp the earth
Upon its axis…
For no one in this world
Could ever have imagined
What you…
The one of such ordinary poetry
Have kept locked
So deeply inside your heart…

Go ahead…
Write it on this very page…
If you don’t…
You will one night
Spill it all over O’Leary’s
Mahogany bar
And it will forever
Be ingrained in the wood…
Oh sure…
Your secret will impress
The beautiful young lady
Sitting in the dark corner booth
All alone…
But you already know
That she could never…….
Never……………..
Keep your secret

You should go ahead
And write it on the page………
If you don’t…
Your secret will one day
Leap from your heart…
And splat upon something
That you wish it had not…

Michael33

Secrets in the Asphalt

Asphalt 1B

It is a most beautiful, rainy Sunday morning here in the southern plains…
The sound of distant thunder rumbling softly through the valley…
I hope your day is as beautiful…

Secrets in the Asphalt

She walks past me every morning
Head down…
Unaware of her surroundings
Perhaps lost in thought
Lost in time from long ago…
Often, I have offered a “Good morning!”
As she shuffles slowly by
But seldom does she even give a glance…
I have wondered what all she has seen
In her many miles of wandering these streets
Staring into the asphalt
Never turning her head to the left
Nor to the right…
Nor even looking up
For what is standing
Right in front of her…
Years ago… she would pause a moment
A brief impersonal conversation…
Her eyes never looking into mine
Nervously glancing around as if
To find a way to escape…
I once offered her a wildflower…
She held it suspiciously
Tween her thumb and fore finger
Arm extended
As if it would burn…
Introducing myself to her
She replied… somberly
“They call me Dee…
But that is not my name”
Then turned to continue her journey
Walking away from the light of dawn…
Head down…
Perhaps just lost in time from long ago…
Searching for the secrets in the asphalt…

Namasté

Michael33

The Empty Room

Tunnel cat 1 A

The Empty Room

Like sitting in an empty room… Alone
Fragments of imagination
Confused in segments of time
No words to lift the eyes from the floor
Nor rhymes upon the wall
The mind of the poet in scattered runes
No heart to pen the scrawl

Yet light shines through the crystal pane
The touch of rainbow hues
Prisms formed from dawn’s first blush
Reflections from the dew
Are miracles born in morning’s light
Does hope arrive with dawn
Are answers borne in morning’s mist
Before the lines are drawn

The candle’s light is growing dim
Yet shadows wash the wall
Dancing soft in silent rooms
Like spirits down the hall
When lanterns dim, no whispers hush
Illusions on the ceiling
Do voices call me to the “Light”
Or offer me their healing

The silence stirs the empty room
Like wind upon the willow
Crumpled quilts on beggared berth
No face upon the pillow
Fragments of imagination
Lost in grains of time
But love that bides within the soul
Still lingers in the rhyme

Namasté

Michael33

Copyright 2017

It Must Have Been April

It Must Have Been April 2

It Must Have Been April

I think it was April
When I felt the last touch
The year becomes faded
But the pain….. not so much

I think it was springtime
In a soft gentle rain
Warm breeze on the hillside
Yet cold filled my veins

I saw beauty springing
In the morning’s soft glow
A sparrow conversing
With a chattering crow

On branches of willows
The carols of dove
A chickadee singing
A song for his love

It must have been April
With unbroken chains
But the year becomes faded
In the soft gentle rain

Michael33

Copyright 2017

Inside the Cuckoo

InSanity 1 A

The following post is a reflection of no one, other than… Myself!

Inside the Cuckoo

Go ahead… I dare you to wander around inside my head
Just don’t step on any of the creatures
Prowling through the forest…
Hiding in the weeds…
For they will drag you through the bog
Through the feculence of your own conscience
Till insurrection dwells
Within your every thought

Go ahead… I dare you to step inside my poetry
And wander through the verses…
Just be careful not to fall between the lines
Where resolutions of my insanity
Dwell restlessly in shadows of the moonlight…
Beneath the rusty fire escapes
Where homelessness lies in the silence
Of cardboard boxes without a voice…
Where walls of graffiti tell stories of delusion
Or perhaps…
Just visions of dreams

Go ahead… I dare you to linger in the rhyme
Where time no longer ticks
Inside the cuckoo…
Where reason only shines before the dawn…
Where blackbirds dance to runes in their reflection
And minds are never lost in morning’s yawn

Go ahead… I dare you…

Michael33

Copyright © 2017

Go ahead… I dare you to comment…

Tick……. Tock…….

 

Tick Tock 1

Tick……. Tock…….

In all seriousness
Life is passing you by
Like time has no compassion
For your longings
Your desires
Your goals
Your dreams
Your curiosity…
It’s time to turn the page
Of the routine… the monotony
That same shit different day crap
Has to go while there’s still time
Before you wake up one morning
And realize you’re old… like me…
The clock is ticking…
Tell all the drama queens and kings in your life
To ‘G I T’… or stop the drama…
That’s all you need to tell them…
Then…
Find the love and laughter that you’ve always desired…
It may actually be closer than you think…
Go to it and take it into your heart and mind
Draw it to you with your smile
With your cheerfulness of the morning…
Look for it in your writing
In your reading…
At work…
At the market…
In your closet…
Under your bed…
It just might even be standing right in front of you
At this very moment…
Reach out and grab it…
Make it a part of your heart…
A part of your mind…
A part of your soul…
Make it your “life”…
Love and laughter to share with another…
Isn’t that what we’re all really here to do?
Remember… time has no compassion…..
Tick……………. Tock………….

Namasté

Have a most beautiful Sunday
And “Smile”…….
You may just brighten someone else’s day

Michael33