Ours was a porcelain piggy bank
Heart shaped and full of pennies
Special coins from here and there.
We knew each one well
With its year and its date
And its time and its place.
So often we’d sit and count
Laughing and feeling grand
We were rich; we were lucky.
But we tired of our precious pennies
And together hoisted our heart high.
And then came that terrible toss.
Remember the sound of the smash
And the tinkling torrent
Of our dissipating riches?
Remember the long lonely walk
Away from the rubble, the mess?
Perhaps we’re still walking?
Such a shame,
The pennies remain
But the bank is broke.
This Life I Have
This life I have,
Not what I want it to be
For my mind’s eye sees great things
Which I could be.
Lies await, untapped and trapped,
Wanting so much to fly and soar,
To be set free.
Maybe it’s fear,
Hesitation to begin.
Help break these chains.
Won’t you please help
To release my heart’s desires,
To facilitate some growth.
Offer a push.
Perhaps you will
Recognize my youthful plight.
Mercifully give a nudge,
One day surely
With spirits soaring so high
You will know my grateful thanks.
Smile for yourself.
Knowing it’s done;
Facilitating talents’ flight
Towards that unbounded place –
All I should be.
Fine Places and Fine Things
The rain tinkles its tune on that roof of tin.
Such a fine roof covering his fine shack on his fine plot.
He smiles pleased and content as he listens and surveys
For his neighbor there hears not such fine tunes.
Such a foolish builder with his roof of grass
For the rain is absorbed silently and soon saturates
And the wet rains join him for tea.
The sun beams its heat on that roof of grass.
Such a fine roof covering his fine hut on his fine plot.
He smiles pleased and content in his cool shade as he surveys
For his neighbor there feels not this cool shade.
Such a foolish builder with his roof of tin
For the heat is absorbed silently and soon saturates
And the swealtering heat joins him for tea.
Perhaps they’ll both join me for tea here under my tree.
Not such a fine tree but relatively dry and reasonably cool.
We’ll smile pleased and content as friends often do
Having talked of life and loves and that which we aspire to,
And having postponed the competition of our places and things.
Bound Not Free
Trapped in this blinkered world
With this dilemma of choice;
The paths appear many
Yet the subliminal trappings,
The preconceptions of mind and place,
Bear down on the full range and scope
And the pressure’s too much to resist.
So we are the lawyers
We’d rather not be.
We’re the police
Numbed by the crimes that we see.
We’re filling and filing forms,
Talking into telephones,
Calming complainants ...
We look not for what we desire
Because our minds,
Like so much of our world,
Are bound not free.
Billowing Clouds of White
Billowing clouds of white
Drift this fine day
To the winds wish
Not knowing their way.
Smiling down upon us
They majestically survey
We occupants of earth
And our familiar way.
Fine forms they sculpt.
Our laughter sings delight.
It’s a glorious canvas
This creation of white.
These clouds dig deep
Burrowing into our mind
Tickling and taunting imagination
Inspirations hoping to find.
Like the shining stars,
Moon and shimmering sea,
These clouds, their purpose,
To set imagination free.
Heed their gentle prod
For the painter awaits.
We’re to explore beyond,
Past unopened gates.
Wisdom’s Whispering Voice
An old man sits perched
Somewhere within my conscience
Like a silhouetted, whispering sentinel.
He’s a beacon from the past
Illuminating youth’s aspirations
Which to him were confided.
He’s unrelenting and insistent
Of his righteous nature –
Echoing divine inspirations.
And he’ll remain and remind
Refusing to fade or falter.
He’ll quietly, patiently persist
This virtuoso of persuasion
With his reverberating voice
Wafting his words of wisdom.
And the conscience knows well
That he will not depart.
He’ll only fade when fulfilled
Because he came by invitation –
A pleading subconscious request
To catalyze my heart’s desires.
I should err not by resisting
Or waging a battle of conscience.
I should heed wisdom’s whispering voice.
This Lonely Life
In this lonely life we lead,
We resolve to resist our contempt
With hollow hapless smiles
Endorsed not by our hearts.
We sadly surge forth
With artificial amour
Appearing appropriately content
And deceiving our wounded wishes.
Alone upon our own path
Too twisted and crooked for friends,
Too winding and rocky for lovers,
We walk our solitary journey.
We meet sorrow’s shadow oft
As it stealthily stalks us.
An uninvited annoying intruder
Haunting and harassing us.
And all too often we tire
On our rocky twisted path
And we stop for a moment.
Breathless and exhausted we wonder,
Where are we going?
Why are we going there?
What are we hoping to find?
Will we ever arrive?
But as always, no answers
So we walk on and on.
Maybe just over that hill
Or just around that next bend,
We’ll find our flourishing meadow
Or our cool refreshing brook.
And sometimes we stumble upon one
And we resolve to resist our contempt.
The Rejected Lot
We are the rejected lot.
We seem not well.
We seem not fine.
As you sneer and scoff,
You know not our minds;
You know not our hearts.
These faults we do have.
We choose not to hide.
We choose not to cover.
Perhaps there'll be a day,
Your faults, you'll reveal;
Your flaws, you'll uncover.
A Time With Strides In Step
While part of me is running strong far from home
Another is frailly walking oh so close.
These parts have diverged,
Unable to remain as they were.
And guilt invades my heart
As time ticks on.
There was a time with strides in step
Our shadows melted together.
Two spirits on the same track
Exchanging the lead and sharing the way.
Laughter and excitement filled the air
As we gazed upon "laughter's silvered wings".
The sounds of summer reeled and splashed
As nature's playground offered its prize.
And as the sun set, tall tales were told
To the runners of the distant shores.
Take me not back to that place
For the sights, sounds and smells would surely fade.
Much better to remain intact
This vision of memory of time long since passed.
Before time takes its impending toll,
Let us once again stride step for step.
Allow me to whisper into that fading heart
Memories of our synchronized strides
When time stood still as shadows danced
On the vibrant fabric of our youth.