Thursday, April 28, 2011

Family Gathering

Sweet songs sung on a sunny September evening,
Mellifluous melodies meet mellow moods and minds,
Tiny tot tests his tongue, barely done teething,
Rest and recreation begins, old tapes on rewind.

The once empty house now filled with the sound of music,
A single stereo blasts the soft soprano solo,
Adamant adolescent agrees with the beat pulsating from the antique,
Live and let die, love fills hearts once hollow.

My thoughts, my words, my lines, my verse,
Lyrics live through lost souls, self loathing for penance,
Touchy teen retreats, creates tension with all who try to converse,
Giddy goat died for the greater good, giving empty stomachs tenants.

Music rises, a crescendo is close at hand,
Beats build up to forsee bigger things ahead,
Motivated man makes for good entertainment, speeches well planned,
Queer quotes quoted “the quiet man quickly breaks bread.”

Holding hands singing Kumbaya only God can save them now,
Victorious voices heard over the din of the stereo,
Mindful mum watches and hums, a slight glisten on her brow,
Rolled eyes at in laws argument, as if to say “yup, here we go…”

Sweet songs sung on a sunny September evening,
Sweet melodies fill the air in the still of a dark September night,
Grandpa sits on his chair, humming, rocking and listening.
Quick cleaning up to do, many hands make work light.

Meetings are sweet but partings are dear,
Music no longer heard, the guests are leaving,
Door closed, house is empty it will be another year,
Till sweet songs are sung on a sunny September evening.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Disembodied Elegance

Nature is smooth and elegant in her ways,
Her thoughts are at peace her mind never strays,
Yet mankind as awkward as he may be,
Trumps and destroys all these with glee.

With his shotgun and hunting, man's sporting luck,
Constantly causes the duck to duck,
In the forests an empire larger than zion,
He made a rug out of the skin of king lion.

He has brought under attack the most brutal and feared,
Caused the mighty elephant to shed many a tear,
His acts have struck fear, his power unheard,
All run from him, the beasts to the birds.

He has distorted nature’s rhythm, he sings out of tune,
The only creature capable of making a swan swoon,
Plants have been trampled underfoot, flowers died,
Bees no longer pollinate, too busy making honey in closed hives.

Yet beings of higher intellect they claim, a step ahead in evolution,
So why do they continue on this pollution revolution?
Their movements seem more beastly, they kill, just for fun,
A confusing beast this, so called man.

What then remains but their self destructing tendancies,
The hopeful religions say the stay on earth is but a tenancy,
The truth lies behind open hearts, open minds agree,
The human race is out of place and needs to find a place to be.

Nature is elegant in her ways; I've often been heard to say,
There's the hunter and the hunted, commonly known as prey,
But a full lion will never harm a lamb; it has the future in mind,
Now if only we could say the same of those they call mankind.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

A Little Bud

A little bud,
Longs for the day it will be a flower,
The day its petals will spread,
And all say twas its finest hour,
Little does it know,
That beauty comes with a price,
That when it opens up to follow the sun,
The gardener shall pluck it,
And put it on a table,
Slowly to die,
To reminisce on its life,
And wish it had remained,
A little bud.

Friday, April 1, 2011

The Man Who Discovered Poetry.

Who discovered poetry,
I just want to shake his hand,
Maybe pour him a coffee, black, no sugars,
Ask him if it grew as planned.

We would talk of rhyme scheme and message,
Of poet after poet we would converse,
Maybe, speak of his discovery,
Yes, of his very first verse.

What inspired dissonance,
Propelled personas past perfect alliteration,
Maybe touch on rhyme and onomatopoeia,
If we have a second, personification.

His hair would probably be a wise grey,
His sandals, won from travelling the sands of time,
His suit of fine cloth, his taste exquisite,
A man of his stature must have many a dime.

A deep look would cover his face,
Each and every time he answered a question,
His, words profound, his diction meticulous,
Giving every syllable undivided attention.

He’d probably have a way with words,
That no other man could,
Vowels, and consonants would be his slaves,
Rarely would he be misunderstood,

I would watch him as he walked away,
Gracefully diminished until he disappears,
Watch the wind cleans his footsteps from the earth,
And patiently wait for the day he reappears.