There are poems in my pencil.
They stay there fast asleep.
They wait there just for me
To pick them up
And put them down
On paper
For you to see.
Some were born in darkness;
Some in pure daylight;
Some were born to sadness
And some to sheer delight.
All have a purpose
And a function to fulfill:
To entertain you, Reader.
I only hope they will.
Some hundred years ago
A man picked up a pen
And with it he wrote
A story which he sent
To a magazine.
The story was good
And well received.
It wound up in a book
Which I now read—
A hundred years later.
I wonder if he thought
When he picked up that pen
That his story would be bought
And his words would be read
A hundred years later.
Sex is an attention-getting word.
Ears perk up whenever it’s heard.
All around heads will turn
In case something new has been learned.
Even after a thousand years
Sex is a word that tickles the ears.
Long after the word has been spoken
Its effect remains; spell unbroken.
It stops conversations dead in their tracks
As everyone strains to hear the facts.
It seems that enough cannot be said
To quench the thirst the word has spread.
As crowds of people gather ’round
To find out what it is I’ve found
I’ll tell you what I’ve learned is this:
Sex is a good word to hold your interest.
No matter where I look
What magazine, newspaper or book;
An English class I even took.
I ask my friends to check around
To see if anything can be found.
They all say there is no sound.
No matter how I rack my mind
I can never seem to find
A single, solitary word to rhyme
With “Orange.”
It was supposed to be a short note
But I took two pages to say “Hello.”
As day slipped into night
I lit a candle to keep the light.
Now the candle, burning low
Is about to lose its lambent glow.
Even as darkness steals my sight
Still I sit; I write.
Here’s a word from your Mother Earth;
A little note for what it’s worth
Reminding you to see all of her beauty.
Take a walk on a sandy beach.
Take a look at the open sea.
Let your eyes rest on my bluest water.
Go lie down in a field of grass.
Watch the sky as the clouds roll past.
Feel my breeze as it blows across your face.
Watch the bird spread wings and fly.
See her sail through the open sky
Flying free as far as she can go.
See the sun burning in the sky.
Watch the stars as they light the night
Twinkling as they shine upon you and I.
All my beauty I give to you
For you to share and enjoy too.
But a word of caution must be spoken.
Remember all the things you take;
Some of them cannot be replaced.
There is just so much that I can give.
So take good care of your Mother Earth.
Protect here for everything she’s worth.
Save her, for there is none to take her place.
An Arctic wind sends a chill across the glacial ground.
For the next four months the sun will not go down.
The temperature here falls to thirty below.
Atop an iceberg, the Arctic Wolf sits alone
Surveying his domain, cold and vast
Where he is the leader and protector of his pack.
He lifts his majestic head, strong and proud
And lets out a howl.
A howl heard for twenty miles around
Carried by an Arctic wind across the glacial ground.
A wolf stands in the moonlight of a warm summer night.
He lifts his eyes upward to a starlit sky
And unleashes his most powerful cry.
As far as howls go, it’s a pretty good try
For the wolf is young and small
And hasn’t quite mastered the call.
But he will.
Sitting silent on a sheet
The words await your company.
Content to let your eyes glide
Swiftly over them
Silent they remain.
But if your mind should wander
And your attention wane
They will LEAP from the page
And GRAB you.
This is very interesting.
A horseless carriage.
What a mysterious thing.
There’s a handle in front
That you crank a bit
To wake the contraption up.
There are control things inside
That cause her to start.
Would you care for a ride?
Go ahead. Climb right in.
Crank. Rumble.
We’ll give it a spin.
Here we go—a little correction
Of that wheel thing there
Should change our direction.
Well, isn’t this fun?
A horseless carriage.
What makes it run?
We’re coming to the edge of the lawn.
That’s far enough—
Here comes the pond!
Whoa! Oh, no!
What makes it stop?
I said WHOA!
Splash.
Not so very long ago
For a class I did attend
I had to give a public speech
Before semester’s end.
I went home and wrote it down
And read it again and again.
But when I stood up before the class
I drew a blank, my friend.
I thought I knew my speech by heart;
I’d practiced every day.
But in the middle of a sentence
I forgot what I had to say.
So there I stood with my mouth ajar
A-way up on the stage.
I looked down at the notes I had
And blanks filled up the page.
I’d always been a-scared to death
To talk in front of groups;
But I thought I’d had it this time;
I really couldn’t move.
I stood there at the microphone
A-wondering what to do.
I reached way down into my brain
And a blank is what I drew.
So here I find myself again
Repeating that same class;
Hoping that the second time
I might be able to pass.
I’ve got my speech right here with me;
Come on now, where’s it at?
If I draw a blank again
They’ll kick me in the a—.
Ho-hum, here I am
Sitting in a traffic jam
Listening to the radio
Tell me alternate ways to go.
But it isn’t anything I can use
I’m stuck right here, unable to move.
The summer sun is beating down hard
I can see heat rising from all the cars.
My own machine is running hot.
I wonder how much gas I’ve got.
I’m sure I’ve got plenty of time
Before the needle hits that little red line.
How long I’ve been here I don’t know.
I left for work days ago.
O’ beautiful waitress
By the coffee pot
Please bring over some java
So rich and black and hot.
I could drink it all day
Coffee is such wonderful stuff.
As a matter of fact I’m ready right now
For you to fill my cup.
You say you’re sick of serving me?
Maybe this would help:
Just wheel that pot right over here
And I’ll make some more myself!
When I first saw this light
It was way down the road
And with a green hue it glowed.
As I approached it
And started to get close
From green it changed to yellow.
Well, then it switched again
From yellow to bright red
Stopping me in traffic, dead.
Now I think something might be wrong.
It doesn’t seem right somehow.
It hasn’t turned for twenty minutes now.
People are getting impatient
And blowing their horns.
It looks like it’s gearing up to be
A long Monday morn.
Mountain road
None too slow.
—HAIRPIN TURN!
Rocky ravine
A hundred feet deep
Just to the left.
Barriers keeping
Cars from screeching
Over the edge.
Tires screaming
Almost leaving
The pavement.
Dust cloud
Lays a shroud
Over the road.
Safe again.
Control regained
Just in time.
Danger passed.
Almost crashed.
—HAIRPIN TURN!
Not so very long ago
I saw a man I didn’t know.
He stood tall, at least six-two.
His hair was gold and his eyes were blue.
Something was familiar about his face.
I could have sworn I’d seen him someplace.
I watched him for a little while.
When he saw me, I had to smile.
I walked over to where he sat
And said, “Hello” as I took off my hat.
He said, “Hi” and offered a chair.
“Do I know you from somewhere?”
I said, “Across the world, in a little town
“Two boys grew up and hung around.
“Folks moved on, but the two boys wrote.
“To stay in touch they’d exchange notes.
“Then one day, they didn’t write.
“Their friendship faded in the night.
“Years went by and they grew older.
“One went on to become a soldier.
“Then at a bar in another town
“The other one happened to come around.”
As I spoke his eyes lit up.
He cracked a smile and raised his cup.
“To old friendships and new ones too
“But I don’t think that I know you.”
I thought to myself as I met his cup
“He may be right, but, hey, so what?”
Oh, this is bad.
This is hard.
You dumb machine
Gimme back my ATM card!
Expired, you say.
I’ll expire you!
I’ve got no money.
Now what am I to do?
Call my institution?
Impossible, I say!
Don’t you know
You stupid machine
That this is Saturday?!?
Have you seen the lights?
The beams which dance in circular motion
Tracing patterns in the sky?
Three beams over Framingham?
Have you seen the lights?
Powerful lights
Extremely bright
That dance in the sky over Framinham?
What are these lights?
Are they a signal?
Some sign
To be seen by some airborne eye?
Or searchlights
Seeking something in the night?
Have you seen this sight?
What explanation can there be?
Have you seen the lights?
As I sit down to write
On this most exhaustive night
I can hardly
keep my e y e s
A solitary match
In an ashtray of glass.
Used.
Discarded.
Its usefullness passed.
Its flame unsurpassed
But not meant to last
Is now in its past.
Used.
Discarded.
To the ashtray it’s cast.
A solitary match.
Sometimes on the radio
You can hear the Ghosts
The Ghosts of Rock ’n Roll.
Jimmy Hendrix and Janice Joplin
Ronnie Van Zant and Jimmy Morrison
Playing on the radio.
Silenced too soon
But remembered through their tunes
The Ghosts of Rock ’n Roll.
Haunting the airwaves
Where their music always plays
Their songs will never die;
Their spirits kept alive
By their voices on the radio
The Ghosts of Rock ’n Roll.
Terror strikes
In the midst of Night
As one tries to sleep.
Darkness surrounds
The threatening sounds
Of the yet unknown.
Unable to hide
From the rising tide
Of the Ocean of Fear
One will fight
The clasp of Fright
Until at last
Morning.
When darkness gives way
To the rays of the sun
Morning.
Another day has begun.
As sunlight splashes
Gently into the day
Darkness
Becomes a thought chased away.
The new day begins
And the old day is done.
Morning.
Sunrise has finally come.
With the new dawn comes
A new beginning too.
Morning.
The day is beginning anew.
She’s got her eyes on the horizon
She’s watching the sun risin’ in the sky.
The wind blows through her windows
Standing open by her bedside
As the cool air kisses her hair
With the sweetness that the breeze brings.
The dawning of the morning
Sees her yawning as the phone rings.
On the receiver a voice greets her
And asks her what she thinks of being free.
She’s now all through with highschool
And wonders what she wants to be.
She’s not sure about her future
But she knows it’s waiting for her.
And she knows as the sun grows
She gets close to her tomorrows
As flooding sunlight makes the room bright
The answer seems much easier to see.
The wind blows and now she knows
It sure is wonderful to be free.
The last time I was here
I saw a man go by.
Travelling very quickly
He soon passed out of sight.
The thought of him intrigued me
And I wondered how he could
Go tumbling over a waterfall
In a barrel made of wood.
I guess there’s only one way
I’m ever going to know.
And that’s to find out firsthand;
So here I go!
Down the Highway of Life we race
Stopping for no one;
For no one we wait.
Like a spaceship out of control
We zoom through our lives
Wherever they go.
Through our daily routines we fly.
We’re carried away
By the Speed of Life.
We must take time while it’s on hand
To enjoy living
As much as we can.
A people proud and dignified
One of the five “civilized” tribes
The Cherokee Nation was not afraid
When the white man came and stayed.
On and on the settlers came
Moving in to stake their claims.
Using papers they called treaties
They took the land of Cherokees.
The chiefs did not understand
Why they wanted so much land.
But of land there was plenty
For all to share with the Cherokee.
The shamans chanted and they prayed
For the whites to go away.
Back across the great blue sea;
To leave the land of Cherokee.
But these men would never leave.
It was their Manifest Destiny
To own the land between the seas
And rid the place of Cherokees.
Driven by the bayonet
Many, many miles west
Beyond the hills they knew as home
Where their children used to roam.
Driven west like so much cattle
After having lost The Battle
To the depths of Tennessee;
The once proud Nation of Cherokee.
Women wept and babies died;
Results of hellish genocide.
So was forged A Trail of Tears
With the blood of Cherokees.
I’ve seen several shades of blue
Since the last time I saw you
And I don’t know what to do about these blues.
I know I’ve seen some green
And a bit of red, too
But lately all I seem to see is blue.
When I started missing you
The colors faded from my view;
All the colors in my life, except blue.
I don’t know what to do
To return those other hues.
What can I ever do about these blues?
I’m afraid there’s only you
That holds any kind of clue
Only you can save me from the blues.
My picture’s complete.
It’s an original you know.
I’m going to frame it
And enter the show.
But to set a price
Let’s see. . .
How much was this?
I forget.
How much for that?
I don’t know yet.
How much is it worth?
To who?
How much should I charge?
For you?
Oh, I don’t know.
You like it, really?
I guess in that case
You can have it for free.
There’s a storm brewing over Manassas Junction.
The Yanks seem to think we’ve got no gumption.
But we will fight for what we believe
Until the invading armies leave.
There’s the thunder of artillery fire.
The flames of Virginia are burning higher.
Clouds of dust from Jeb’s cavalry
Rise in the air with the August heat.
Across the river Jackson’s gone
To flank the Feds who are pressing on.
The fires of Manassas are burning bright
As muskets sound throughout the night.
My regiment will be called up soon
To march forth to the field of doom.
This opportunity I’ve taken to write.
I wish I could say I’ll be alright.
But blood like rain has soaked the ground
And the sounds of death are all around.
But who knows what the storm will bring?
Perhaps we’ll hear freedom’s glorious ring.
The hour is late and I must rest
To be ready for tomorrow’s test
So for now I bid you adieu
Until I find my way to you.
If you only knew how it makes me feel
To picture you lying on a battlefield
On the ground, unable to move
And bleeding horribly from your wounds
You’d understand me when I say
That I don’t want to go on this way.
Is it the intention of General Lee
To destroy every Southern family?
Virginia is a place I love
But this war is costing all her sons!
How many will she lose tonight?
What will be the final price?
I know you don’t want me to carry on
And you think the cause is a noble one
So I’ll not anger you with my pen
But only pray to see you again.
You make sure you don’t get hurt
And I’ll await your safe return.
My Brother, your actions baffle me.
How could you turn on your family?
Turning your back on the Confederacy?
Joining the U.S. Cavalry?
Would you invade your own hometown
Bring soldiers to shoot us down?
Would you aim your cannon at me
And threaten to blow me to smithereens?
Would you march on your father’s house
Shoot everybody and burn it down?
Dearest Brother, I implore
Come back to Virginia once more.
Come back home to stand with friends
On the side of Virginia’s defense.
Do not fight for the enemy
But come and join the Confederacy.
In defending Virginia you are right
But don’t you see the bigger fight?
If the South was allowed to secede
How united would the U.S. be?
Were we divided like Europe is
There would be no end to skirmishes.
Our borders we would have to defend
And this bloody war would never end.
And how successful would we be
In warding off foreign enemies?
If we were split into every state
England would soon control our fate.
Without a strong and united army
We would once again become a colony!
These are the reasons I wear the Blue
And march with soldiers to defeat you.
When this war is over, Union intact
I hope Virginia will take me back;
And that my family may forgive
Accept and understand the things I did.
I wish not to fight my family
But I must go against the Confederacy.
So if you see forces led by your brother
For God sakes, man, take cover!
Hi, Mama, its me. How du yu be?
Im relee enjoyin kolij
And pikin up oll kindsa nolij.
Im takin a inglish klas ware spelin duznt kount.
Its kolld Fonetics and yu onlee wuree about soundz.
Yu kan neva spel enee wurd rong
So ritin a leta duznt take long.
Pepl kan stil reed it and no wut you meen
And yu neva hafta luuk at a dikshunaree.
If yu reed this leta out loud
It soundz just lik it shuud sound.
I gutta go so theerz just wun thing
If ya kan, send sum munee (money).
Soll for now,
Yur Sun.
Based on the “nolij”
You're getting in “kolij”
It really seems to me
That they should be sending us some “monee”.
Love,
Mama
P.S. IfyougetridofspacesbetweenwordsI’llkillya.
There’s a story of old that I have heard told
’Bout the day MacGregor came callin’
Ignorin’ the law and quick on the draw;
All who had faced him had fallen.
Sheriff John Stone went out there alone
The star on his chest brightly shinin’.
His deputies’ fright had kept them inside.
Not one of them would stand beside him.
MacGregor was known to Sheriff John Stone
As a gunslinger; no one was faster.
He’d come to town to put Stone in the ground.
It was a gunfight MacGregor was after.
The noon sun was high that day in July
When these two men stood at the ready.
One the bad man with a lightnin’ fast hand;
The other the law, cool and steady.
They suddenly drew on that hot afternoon
And fired, it seemed at the same time.
MacGregor went down and lay on the ground.
He’d seen the sun for the last time.
Sheriff John Stone stood there alone
And watched as MacGregor was fallin’
He holstered his gun and walked out of the sun
Wonderin’ why he’d come callin’.
The King of Scotland, Alexander III
After a council at the castle of Edinburgh
Through a terrible storm was determined to ride
Back to Kinghorn to meet his bride.
On that fateful night he rode his horse
Over the cliffs of the Firth of Forth
Leaving the only heir to the sovereign seat
His grand-daughter Margaret, a child of three.
“The Maid of Norway” as she was known
Sailed in 1290 to claim her throne.
But Scotland’s little Lady and Queen
Died on the trip mysteriously
Leaving the Scottish throne empty
And at the mercy of the English king.
Thus the House of Dunkeld fell
With the tragic loss of Scotland’s Damsel
And into distress the land was thrown
A mighty kingdom; a vacant throne.
It’s white like a pearl
Filled with little swirls
Swirls of the brightest blue.
It’s my favorite marble
And I’m giving it to you.
Trapped in a package
Unable to break free
Tiny sugar granules
Await the opportunity
To be picked up
And dumped
Headlong
Into
Tea.
Two birds playing
Flying through the air
Carefree.
One chasing the other
Here and there.
A street.
Birds swooping.
A car moving.
Tragedy.
The lead bird stopped
And stood
By the side of the road
Looking on in disbelief
In awe and in grief.
And finally flew off
Alone.
Created when the child blows
Upon a trip the bubble goes.
It rises up into the air
Carried by the wind that’s there.
Then it drifts slowly down
Closer to the grassy ground.
Dangerously close to a blade
Then by a new gust saved.
Higher into the sky it flies
Then—with a pop—it dies
Leaving behind no evidence
Of its ever so brief existence.
I had a thought.
From whence it came
I know not.
Perhaps, a brain.
I thought I had a thought.
Though its origin I know not.
From whence did it come, this thought?
By what process was it brought
To my attention?
Was it an original thought?
Or had it been previously thought
By thinkers thinking that they ought
Be thinking of some other thought
For their reflection?
What’s that?
What did you say?
I’m sorry.
I didn’t hear you.
I was far away.
Who? Me?
I’m back again.
It’s okay.
I’m listening now.
What’s that you said?
The Mind flies
Through time
So fast.
With lightning speed
The Mind sees
Pictures of the past.
Memories that last.
The Mind flies
Through skies
So vast.
In endless streams
The Mind conceives
Thoughts that it grasps.
Images it casts.
These are the firefighters.
These are the type
Who make their living fighting fires
And saving peoples’ lives.
Demonstrating bravery
They’ll set all fear aside
And rush into a burning building
To save a precious life.
Twenty-four hour contacts
Every single day
Always at the ready
To come to someone’s aid.
Dangerous living
They know the risks they take.
They also have a keen idea
Exactly what’s at stake.
No matter what the job is
Anything at all
With unwavering courage
They answer every call.
These are the firefighters.
These are the type
Who make their living fighting fires
And saving peoples’ lives.
The other day I saw a man
Making his way up a hill.
He was a young man
But you could see the strain.
The sweat on his forehead;
The veins in his neck;
The look of determination on his face
As he made his way
In his wheelchair
Up the hill.
Christmas in the trenches
That’s where we’ll be this year
Celebrating with canteens
Our only bag of cheer.
Exchanging only bullets
With the men across the way.
An occasional goodwill message
Sent with a hand grenade.
Over no-mans-land the sky
Is all lit up at night.
Red and green tracer bullets
Our only Christmas lights.
Christmas morning we will go
Charging over the top
To see what kind of presents
The enemy has got.
Canceled by the Emperor in 393
As a non-Christian festival
The Flame was extinguished in ancient Greece.
Pierre de Coubertin of French descent
Had a vision and a dream
To rekindle the events.
After fifteen centuries, in 1896
The Olympic Theme played
And the Torch was re-lit.
In Antwerp, Belgium, in 1920
A white flag was raised
Bearing the symbol of the famous Five Rings.
Pierre addressed a war-torn community
And referred to the Games
As “The Festivals of Human Unity.”
In 1936 the first torch relay
Ran from Olympia to Berlin
On a warm summer day.
Atlanta, 1996 continues the story
Citius, Altuis, Fortius
One hundred years of glory.
Growing up you lived near us
And yet you never knew
How all the boys in the neighborhood
Fell in love with you.
We could see you in the window.
The bathroom it was.
We watched you take a shower
And found ourselves in love.
One day your father saw us.
“Get out o’ there,” he said.
We ran like scared jack rabbits
The boys and I, we fled.
We made ourselves a promise
That we’d return again
And bring with us a camera
To record the sweet event.
We went back there indeed
The very next day
Our camera at your window
Clicking joyfully away.
Excitedly we ran home
And the film we exposed
But the dummy with the camera
Had left the shutter closed!
As we waited on ships not far from the shore
On D-Day Nineteen Hundred Fourty-Four
A young corporal sat right down
And told this tale as we gathered ’round:
Several years ago, as he sat in his favorite chair
We asked our father to tell of his time Over There.
He sat back for a moment stroking his chin.
When he leaned forward, his look was grim.
He said, “Back in Fourteen, the German High Command
Set forth a plan to rule the land.
On their way to France, through Belgium they tore
Setting off waves of the Great World War.
It was the sinking of our merchant ships
That brought the Americans into it.
So me and thousands of other Doughboys
To European shores were deployed.
Cantigny, Châtteau-Thierry and Belleau Wood
Were some of the places your father stood
Digging in trenches over his head
And trying not to wind up dead.
Bloody battles, those we fought.
World peace carried a heavy cost.
So many lives lost, so many men.
At least we’ll never have to do it again.”
Story finished, we gazed at the sand
And thought about the task at hand.
To stop the Germans, here were we
About to hit the beach at Normandy.
I’ve since forgotten that corporal’s name
But I remember his story, just the same.
As I look back on that fateful night
How I wish his father had been right.
Quite a predicament, this one.
I’m standing here with an empty gun.
My opponent is sporting a wolfish grin
As he has yet to fire upon my person.
Apparently his honor was sorely shaken
When I scoffed at him for being mistaken.
He demanded “satisfaction” and suggested a duel.
I took him up on his offer—like a fool.
We would turn and shoot at fifteen paces.
The counting began and we stepped to our places.
I whirled about and fired my gun
Missing wildly and injuring no one.
“A penny,” he says, “for your current thought.”
As he’s carefully aiming his shot.
My current thought of course is this:
I don’t suppose he’ll miss.
Sir, might I have a dime?
You see, I’d like to use the phone
Because it’s Christmastime
And I’m very far from home.
Sir, might I borrow a pen?
You see, I’d like to send a note.
It’s Christmastime again
And I’m very far from home.
Sir, this job of mine
Means traveling so much you know.
Now it’s Christmastime
And I’m very far from home.
Sir, you’ve been so kind
But I really have to go.
Here’s your pen back and your dime.
It’s Christmastime
And I’m going home.
’Twas for the love of a maiden that we set sail
In a thousand ships upon the sea
And lay siege to a city to save her
To force our foes to set her free.
Our friends have fallen in battle
Brave heroes every one
Whose deeds shall be sung for ages
Before a slowly setting sun.
For ten years we have known sorrow
But tomorrow we shall welcome joy
For tonight we don a deadly disguise
And enter into Troy.
I am alone and covered with snow
But it won’t always be so.
When Spring begins and Winter ends
People will come to the park once again.
The old man will be back
Who throws crusts of bread to the birds
And talks to them as if they listen
And understand his words.
He’ll tell them about his wife
How beautiful she was
And about his daughter away at college
And how he’s proud of what she does.
Young lovers will also return
Who sit with me holding hands
Talking softly about their dreams
And dreamily about their plans.
Young mothers will also be back
Rocking their babies to sleep
Softly singing lullabies
While sitting here with me.
I am alone and covered with snow
But it won’t always be so.
You ask me what time it is
Then you apologize
For you hadn’t seen my eyes.
But fear not!
For I have a watch.
And I can tell you the time.
You see, I open its face
And touch its hands
With mine.
I got hungry while traveling
Down the open road
So I called a pizza place
On my cellular phone.
I asked them to deliver
A pizza to my car.
That was half an hour ago
I wonder where they are.
He almost never wrote it.
He never thought it would sell.
Considered himself an ordinary man
With nothing much to tell.
But he wrote of his youth
And of difficult times
Selling cloth and copper;
Saving up his dimes.
And he wrote of his love
For a beautiful girl
And the day that he asked her
To share in his world.
He wrote of his children
And parenting’s trials.
The pain and the tears;
The laughter; the smiles.
He wrote down his thoughts
On reaching his age.
Stories from the life he lived
Filled page after page.
Worth more than a thousand pictures
This book in my hand
Tells me much about my grandfather;
An extraordinary man.
