Monday, November 17, 2003

Insightful Moon

Standing in the road alone but for the stars,
My thoughts jumbled and incoherent at best.
Overwhelming sadness threatens from unseen voids
Eyes well, lips quiver, heart begins to ache.
Reminiscent of forcing down bile on a Sunday morning,
Mouth is bitter, regret threatens to overwhelm.
I can’t explain these feelings or my need to suppress,
Acts long forgotten transgressions ignored,
Coming back to haunt at inopportune times.
One day they’ll burst forth with no wall to block,
I time yearned for with bated breath.
This time is not come,
Feelings forced down until the next.
Soft footsteps on the gravel,
Cool breeze caresses my cheek.
The beauty of the moment purges sad for happy,
Longing for the standstill of time replaces the dread.
A glance at the moon shows the old man’s grin
Looking down on this sad scene he lets out a laugh.
The years gone by have seen much worse
Than this pitiful sack of dismay and self-pity.
Round goes the moon ever round this ball Earth
It will be back tomorrow same smile, same mirth
One day I’ll be gone ne’er to see the old man
So be quick and get over the wasteful issues at hand
Enjoy each today, look not to tomorrow
It may not come then today is a waste

Casting Lines

The line plays out across the waters deep
Its goal is to snare the unsuspecting l’il carp
The lure holds promise of good food, security
But we know that no good will come to the guileless carp.
Sinking beneath the rippling surface the bait eases down
Teasing our carp and titilating his senses,
He moves in to tackle the fishermans bait.
A light nibble, an exploration of content
Leaves our little hero bereft of his lip.
Gaining some wisdom from this unfortunate time
He scuttles off to be tricked ne’er again

Some time hence the arrival again
this mysterious bait and its promises true
Warier this time still bearing scars from before
Our carp has grown larger and wiser
Though no glutton for pain he makes a nibble or two
A quick dash here, a dart over there
The bait jigs around playing its own little game
Its wavering hips promise no harm to you
But buried behind is the line and the hook
Being the dupe he grabs a small bite
He loses more lip but it’s the foolishness that hurts

Castigating himself promising not to fall again
He waits and he waits for the reappearance of bait
The fisher now needs a large carp for his food
Sloth and foppish he is no longer at play
The game has turned serious, both playing for keeps
This time however the carp won’t be deceived
The lure hits the water and drops down to the floor
Tied ‘round a log giving sense of a fish
The line gets a yank but can’t stand the strain
The fisher goes hungry while our carp eats his catch

Friday, November 14, 2003


Darling innocent so meek and pure,
Misunderstood and subject to scorn.
Ne’er a way for you to be sure
Long since a smile on your face has worn

A youthful tyke becomes an adult boor.
Whose scorn doth cause our flow’r to wilt.
Alone in heart like our sighing Moor,
If only memory could be kilt.

My heart it breaks when sign is seen,
I am powerless to vanquish the Pain
And erase the scars caused by such men.
What I would not give to erase the stain.

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