Poetry

What Child

Hear the cry

the cry of your child

the truth so silently seeking

the earth now mourns

that family who’s torn

we having sown, are now reaping

 

Hear the steps

the flight of the man

the stomp so loud as he’s leaving

children distraught

at what he’d taught

betrayed, now left unbelieving.

 

See the world

the world so dead

so dead to love and to feeling

its no wonder why

they all seem to die

their plea seems to me so revealing

 

 

Shortcuts

Shortcuts in life

shortcuts to strife

shortcuts are nothing more

than the knife

cutting your experience

cutting you short

coming up short

and making you pay

the difference

Funeral

There were many flowers
So many folks
And plenty of family
There was wedding dress
And joyful bliss
Everything so lovely

The day we were wed
Had happy thoughts
Yet cold reality
One day it would end
We’d end up dead
Sure Death life tends to bring

Yet, There were no flowers
Nor many folks
For gathered round to see
No mournful dress
For to address
The day she stopped loving me

Sevillana

The colors of her dress

address,

the passion in her dance

the rhythm, lights

and fiery nights..

the guitar that seemed to prance

Piercing brown eyes

hypnotize,

the lads that happen through

that quick neck fling and

dress flapping

castanets and stomping too.

oh what’s a boy to do

Of What Worth

Of what worth are the eyes

That have chosen their sight,

 Regardless of what they see?

 And the ears that have heard,

 Something different being said,

 Not hearing obviously.

 Of what worth are the hands

 That offer no help?

 Of no worth to you and me.

 But oh that mine

were as Those that were hung

 On the hill of Calvary.

Fall

Leaves of sorrow
Tears of fall’s orange
Approach, oh so gently
The October ground
And kiss it goodbye.

Eternity

There I was.

Here I am.

That was my perception.

This is now what I see

that was my knowledge

now, I know better

eternity

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