One Thought At A Time
It’s nothing but a simple thought
Here in the early morn:
My father was but one year old,
My mother not yet born
The force of life was just the same;
The dreams as large, and strong —
But they’re forgotten, now,
As will be ours,
Before too
Long
Within the vineyard of her honeyed youth
The red wine flows through long and draping vines;
From sharpest grape it runs to sweetest tooth,
Down where the soil and the sun combines
To bring about a type of miracle.
A marvel that she’s not thought on for years:
A thing that’s not the least satirical,
A sober thing of ancient engineers.
For light and flippant are her thoughts these days,
Of vanity and life amid the stars;
The latest trend, the hottest fashion craze,
And all the best of nightclubs and of bars —
She stops and blinks, a teardrop to conceal;
Within her father’s vineyard, life was real
.
Picture / Photo Credit : © Mikhalevich | Dreamstime.com – Vineyards. Watercolor. Photo
and where is your ambition, son;
why don’t you strive for more?
why waste your great potential, when
success is at your door?
because i see the wilderness,
the doleful, bleak condition;
the swamp that eats our every dream,
and mocks our vain
ambition
The might of all humanity,
Behold its moldering surface:
The frame is there, the bridge is gone –
It’s all strength, and
No purpose
Lucy sat out in the sun
In cold and clear September;
She modeled for us her new life,
I always will remember
The pride she wore upon her face
As she soaked in the rays;
Not knowing pills and Crystal Head
Would soon cut short her days.
The pride of Lucy, young and full
Of beauty and its power;
The sharpened razor blades, so cold,
That hacked to death
The flower
(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)
We cannot find a common ground
To share a point of view,
For I stand here, in judgment, of
The things that make you, you
And you are there, entombed within
That fort of your devising;
That there’s no common ground for us
Just isn’t that surprising
But there’s a universal truth
In all strife to be found:
Our hatreds go with us to graves
Beneath a common
Ground
The arrogance of avarice
Is known to all humanity,
And yet, it hasn’t slowed a bit,
No decrease in cupidity
As every day, we read again,
Of twisted, dark, venality:
But empty and esurient
We bumble toward mortality
Here in the houses of the dead
We see the sheer insanity
Of filling days with emptiness
And shallow dreams
And vanity
