Your eyes fall not on mine eyes,
Rather into an oblivious distance.
Thus, I am invisible.
I make no foot prints, no shadow.
I do not exist.
Our world, a lonely world, relationships over waves and wires.
No faces. No smiles. No kindness. No worthiness.
Am I not worthy of your smile, your kind, “Hello”?
Oddly, the only face of Jesus one might see today is
Your face.
Is it a face of love? Is it a kind smile? Is it a reassuring acceptance?
You speak volumns with your oblivious demeanor.
Silent words of unacceptance.
The homeless man…Is he not worthy of your smile, your eyes of recognition.
Unless you are willing to live a life walking in the footsteps of the Lord,
You cannot be called a Christian.
Do you want to be a follower?
Give me your eyes of recognition
Your smile of acceptance.
Your words of worthiness.
Your face……….of Jesus.
Month: March 2015
Night Eyes
As the evening chases the sundown, the night eyes deliberately focus.
The work togs hit the floor, as the dancing shoes waltz out the door.
The Friday night revelers save a table for ten.
With the first round down, the conversation amplifies.
The harried waitress, warily intense, quickly traverses the crowded tables.
Then it’s time again for another round. Toss a coin. Who’s buyin’?
The Shapeshifters warm up for the Friday fanfare.
This troupe of eleven animated troubadours ignites the night.
Their music, full, familiar, and euphonic, entices the patrons to dance.
Yet some contented souls just sip and listen, for the music appeases insatiated ears, not just wanton feet.
The bearded vocalist croons favorite tunes; the guitarist, though ingenious, appears whacked!
The flute player’s notes encircle the room luring all ears back to the stage.
The keyboard explodes with two hands mocking ten, as the trombone laughs at the night.
The groupies arrive early to claim the front tier, order their pleasures, anticipating the show.
Two grand size ladies giggle and swoon as the guitarist fires up his hips.
A cowboy, spit-shined, and plainly on the prowl, drinks beer, chewing gum like he’s fanning out a fire.
One young man, drugged out, or truly disturbed, gnaws his fingers to the beat of the drum.
Two lesbians entertain onlookers with their libidinous dance.
It’s the night life, where purple hair and gray coiffures, all delight in the music and gaiety of the night.
But as the dark chases the dawn, the night eyes cease to focus.
The Reunion
Reunion time! We’ll have to look our best!
We’ll shed some pounds, and buy a flattering frock,
That hides our hips, and lifts our dipping breasts.
Yes, cleavage wasn’t part of physique
In ’66, there wasn’t much to see.
We came from innocence and small town views,
Embraced a world of hope we thought we knew.
But we were destine to rewrite the codes
Of moral standards, long the social guides.
Free love and peace and pot would fix our world
Of bigotry and hate and futile war.
Oh, yes, old friend, we fixed it good! So good
We rue our days. Our children suffer most.
Single moms with phantom dads, the carnage
Of free love, my friend, that wasn’t free at all.
But we’ll go back and talk old times and skirt
The pain we caused. We’ll flash the pics of kids
And grands, and analyze our aches and pains.
What fun we’ll have. I just can’t wait! Can you?
Source of Inspiration for The Reunion
The Reunion was written to assign responsibility to the “free love” movement for the premature loss of youthful innocence, and the degradation of the sanctity of marriage, a holy union now taken lightly, thus easily voided by the divorce express lane. The Reunion was published in The International Who’s Who in Poetry, 2004, in which I was sited as one of 4 featured poets and the only American poet. The other featured poets were from Thailand, Italy, and Greece. This was an amazing honor!
FALL
Harvest moon rising
Flaming colors smoke the sky
Pumpkins smile and watch.
The Devil’s Pack
When first you took a drag from cancer’s stick,
Your throat hurt. Was that not a blatant sign?
So cool. You wore the badge of societies clique,
Too young to care ’bout lungs or facial lines,
But soon the Devil found your psyche weak,
And cool became addiction and denial.
“Oh, I can quit today!” False words that reek,
And stain the air, destroying youth’s sweet smile.
You’re dying! And your hair and clothing stink.
Society now says, “Go outside to smoke!”
Outside, alone, you must have time to think.
Your breath’s so weak, you cough until you choke.
What will it take? A coffin lined in black!
You want to live? —Then toss the Devil’s pack!
All My Soap
Today the world will fall apart.
Tomorrow still the same.
The wicked plot; the good will cry,
For Erica’s to blame!
Bianca, Dear, you’re gay, you say.
You play a dangerous game.
You ruined your life; you killed your love,
But Erica’s to blame!
The lover, Chris, will leave her side,
She’s just to hard to tame.
The web she weaves, with vile deceit,
Yes, Erica’s to blame!
The long, lost child, by rape conceived,
Is back to stake her claim.
Her life was ruined; you gave her up,
And Erica’s to blame!
Today the world will fall apart.
Tomorrow still the same.
The wicked plot; the good will cry,
For Erica’s to blame!
Seekers Song ~ A Villanelle of Truth and Purpose
Seekers traverse lands far and near.
Life’s purpose chased down fleeting trails.
Search inward! Truth, purpose lie here.
Mighty mountains, their vistas unclear,
Dreams, but elusive holy grails.
Seekers traverse lands far and near.
Destined directives, the soul’s gear,
Tailored gifts luckless druthers quell.
Search inward! Truth, purpose lie here.
Lustful latitudes helmsmen steer
Through clouds of doubt whipping white sails.
Seekers traverse lands far and near.
Frustration paves the road with tears,
Vain youthful dreams like sunsets pale.
Search inward! Truth, purpose lie here.
Be still, Seeker, the way is clear.
Trust all within you will not fail.
Ye seekers traversing lands far and near,
Search inward! Truth, purpose lie here.
Source of Inspiration for Seekers Song ~ A Villanelle of Truth and Purpose
The Hippie Movement prompted seekers of the meaning of life to travel the earth only to find after years of searching for answers were within themselves. In the still, quiet beats of the heart, that “ah-ha” moment emerges to illumine our individual talents necessary for our survival and the survival of the world. Thus, we all have unique talents to contribute to the community for the progress and perseverance of humanity. Villanelle poems are appropriate for the repetitive nature of the subject, for with every generation there are new seekers of purpose and truth.
Seekers Song ~ A Villanelle of Truth and Purpose was published in The Best Poems and Poets of 2007.
THE LONG AND SHORT OF SHADOWS
Life’s shadows cast long into time.
Deeds of Love steep in memory.
Foul acts – viscid haze of man’s grime.
Unconditional Love sublime,
The Father’s path of destiny.
Life’s shadows cast long into time.
Barren mountains shield hatred’s crime.
Long shadows mask the mystery.
Foul acts – viscid haze of man’s grime.
Gardens planted in rows of Thyme,
Season journeys vague harmony.
Life’s shadows cast long into time.
Terror without reason or rhyme,
Journal violent history.
Foul acts – viscid haze of man’s grime.
Moments of kind deeds – Love sublime.
Hidden ‘neath tales of agony.
Yes, Life’s shadows cast long into time.
Foul acts – viscid haze of man’s grime.
Source of Inspiration for The Long and Short of Shadows
The Villanelle form of poetry is fitting for writing about life and world events, for these subjects tend to be quite repetitive. There is always war in some or most parts of the world at any given time. And hatred and prejudice, though conquered by some, are definitely repetitive in nature. That is why I use the Villanelle to express strong feelings of the world’s malcontent. This form of poetry is also challenging with short lines and the strict rhyming scheledule. I have been honored by the publishing of my “word games”.
The Long and Short of Shadows was published in The International Who’s Who in Poetry, 2007.
Villanelle of War
War’s the norm in the world today.
Ancient lands mourn under the veil.
History repeats another day.
Terror and grief are here to stay.
Disease and death may come by mail.
War’s the norm in the world today.
Beware! the Jew, the Black, the Gay,
The holy fiend your worlds assail.
History repeats another day.
Naive children in streets at play,
Now die for Allah’s immortal tale.
War’s the norm in the world today.
Ancient powers with laws of clay.
Fanatics rise, then falter, then fall.
History repeats another day.
The fabrics of life change and fray,
But good over evil, we pray, prevail.
Still, war’s the norm in the world today.
History repeats another day.
Source of Inspiration for Villanelle of War
This poem, Villanelle of War, brought me unbelievable recognition from the international poetry community. It was published in The International Who’s Who in Poetry, 2005. In this book they chose 4 international poets, one from Mexico, one from Denmark, St. Lucia, and I was the only American! I was completely blown away by this honor. In the introduction of the four featured poets, this is what they wrote: FEATURED POETS.…..We begin this directory with a diverse sampling of poets and poetry from around the world. While varying greatly in subject and style, all of these featured poets honor the passionate art of poetry by gracefully and courageously exploring their most intimate thoughts and emotions. It is our hope that all those who read these selections will be inspired and encouraged to pursue their own creative form of self-expression.
The Clock of Life
Tick tock, tick tock, life’s ardent beat,
Each face, each clock, the same, but not.
Keen hands mark time’s juncture complete.
The sun and moon once again meet,
Yesterday, in the logbook slot.
Tick tock, tick tock, life’s ardent beat.
Minutes, hours, a day’s gay fete,
Ignored seconds, drops in a pot.
Keen hands mark time’s juncture complete.
Wrinkles simulate rows and pleats,
And petals open, fall and rot.
Tick tock, tick tock, life’s ardent beat.
Tragedy befalls; feigns defeat.
Time delivers the healing shot.
Keen hands mark time’s juncture complete.
Earth spins, revolutions replete.
Father Time continues his trot.
The clock heeds not the tether and cleat,
For keen hands mark time’s juncture complete.
Source of Inspiration
Yet another Villanelle! But I thoroughly enjoy writing Villanelles, made popular in France in the 1700’s. The challenge is the form and rhyming expectations. But that is what makes it fun! It affords me the opportunity to play word games trying to come up with a list of words that rhyme is the first step. For years now, I have saved a file with napkins or deposit skips or whatever, with phrases scribbled in any empty space, inspirations for a poem. This one was written around an old unfinished crossword puzzle. Funny!
The Clock of Life was published in Best Poets of 2014.
Voice of the Villanelle 