Poetry of a Sailor

My beautiful picture

Poetry of a Sailor

It wasn’t time
That passed me by
It was my failure to absorb
All of life
Along the way
Caught in the sway of the moon
Like perfect passion
Carried from the shore
In the ebb of the tide

It wasn’t breath
Down in the ocean
It was my failure to inhale
All the air
Beneath my wings
Caught in the strings of intrigue
Like perfect passion
Muddled ‘mongst the silt
Beneath the sea

It wasn’t land
For which I longed
It was the failure to dance
With my soul
On savage seas
Caught in the breeze of a whisper
Like perfect passion
Drifting on wings of the wind
That calls my name

Michael33

…and so it is

and so it is 1

It’s damp outside
After the passing
Of an early morning shower –
Rain drops lingering on blades of grass
On the red leaves of the maple
On a stray spring beauty
Confused by the cool of the morn
By the light beyond the dawn –
And so it is
About life
Never set in stone
No way to know
When next
To light the candle
When next to dance
With the strings of the symphony
When to hide
In the darkest of shadows

It’s damp outside
The brief morning shower
Moving with the breath
Of the breeze
To a place
Unfamiliar
Leaving behind its footprints
Of a life
Unexpected
Raindrops on the sidewalk
Awaiting the sun
To carry them home –
And so it is
About life
Passing us by
In one brief moment
No way to know
When next
To turn the page
When next to dance
With the shadows in the lamplight
When to hide
Neath the wings of a sparrow

And so it is…

Michael33

Rising Tide

My beautiful picture

If I could see the light
Above the hole that I have dug
If I could change my coffee
Into wine inside my mug
If I could walk on water
And escape the rising tide
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the drowning

If I could gather round me
All the thoughts that make me smile
If I could only linger
In the laughter for a while
If I could rise above it
Finding hope beneath the clouds
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the gibbet

If I could feel the pain
Inside the soul that I have killed
If I could only breathe
Inside the poisons I have spilled
If I could walk away today
Inside another’s shoes
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the fire

If I could see the light
Above the hole that I have dug
If I could turn my back
Upon the alcohol and drugs
If I could fly to distant shores
And find one trusted friend
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the drowning

Please reach out to those who are searching...

Michael33

Knowing One from the Other

Knowing One from the Other framed

Due to circumstances that I would prefer not to discuss on this blog (though many of you are aware of those circumstances by reading my other blog) I have not written anything as of late that I would consider worthy of posting.  I hope to return to writing poetry of at least some value very soon.  Until that time… please enjoy a post from the past that I am sure many of you have not read before and those of you who have… I hope will enjoy once again.

Knowing One from the Other

I am stumbling in between them…
All that is beautiful in the world
And the depths of my insanity…
Enchanted by my own ignorance
Of not knowing one from the other…
Confused as to which one
Breathes the reality of my being
And the one embroidering
The beauty within my mind…

Do the fields of lavender
Swaying with the gentle breeze
Possess more beauty
Than the hues of indigo
Surrounding the sadness of a broken heart…
Do the rhymes of the greatest poets
Fulfill my longing more completely
Than the ancient runes
That echo in my head
From the voices
That no one else can hear…

Perhaps reality does not exist…
Except for what dwells
Within our own darkness
Lingering in the thoughts
That no one else can touch…
The truths that no one else dare to wonder…
Wandering amongst the creatures
Who shadow our perception
Of what is real…

For none of us would be who we are
Without the shadows that prowl our minds…
The one’s we share with no one…
The one’s that no one dare
Look deep enough inside our souls
To awaken…
For no one possesses the audacity to
Tempt the creatures of another…
Unless, of course…
They too are standing in the middle
Of what is beautiful
And the depths of their own insanity…
Enchanted by their own ignorance
Of not knowing –
One from the other…

Michael33

Unveiled

Unveiled 4

Painting by Betty Bell Sanders

Though her eyes were closed
She could still see forever
Far beyond the doorway
Where she stood
Unveiled to the world
To the angels
In her dreams
Bare feet drawing grace
From the wood

The wicker
The wood
The breeze of the morn
The sunlight
Soft gainst her skin
To feel the embrace
Of the love
In the silence
Washing away
Where she’s been

In the hues of the morn
She could still see forever
Immersed
In the absence of time
Transposing the words
Of a story once told
Creating
A most perfect rhyme

Michael33

Words

Words

Words

I know…
This was a beautifully
Clean blank page
Before I decided
To blather all over it
With what I will most likely
At some point in the future
Profess to be some
Semblance of misguided poetry…
Every day I hear someone say
“Words make a difference”
Though I’ve left at least
A million words
Upon these pages
None of which
As yet
Have changed the world…
I pretend
There are those who read them
And my words make them smile
But I cannot see them…
I pretend
There are those whose hearts
Are touched
By certain words I say
But I cannot feel them…
I pretend
There is one soul
That stirs within my words
But I cannot find them…
I pretend
My words will change my life
But I cannot reason
What does not stand before me

I know…
This was a beautifully
Clean blank page
Before I twaddled
All over it
Pretending that
My words of prattle
Showed at least
Some semblance
Of misguided poetry…
But within these
Misguided words
I can pretend
That they will change the world
That they will put a smile
Upon the face of another
That they will touch the heart
Of someone in need of feeling love
That they will stir the soul
Of one who is searching
To find their way…
That I will 
In some most delicate way
Find reason to understand
What does not stand before me…

Michael33

Fore the Mockingbird’s Yawn

Mockingbird'sYawn

It was early in the morn
Fore the blush touched the willow
Fore the mockingbird’s yawn
Turned to song
Voices from the ceiling
Speaking words of introspection
Wandering in my mind
Tween right and wrong

In the hues of the dawn
In the chatter of the sparrow
When light sifted softly
Cross sculptured stones
Voices neath the floor
Speaking words of resurrection
Never speaking of the door
That hides the bones

It was early in the morn
Fore the blush touched the silence
Though light out of darkness
Dimmed the flame
Voices from the willow
Speaking words of intellection
Till the ravens came
Calling my name

Michael33