Poems and Things

Make art anyway.
Though buyers are away
and your drawings look gray,
Make it anyway.

Draw a little bird,
and paint with rosy hues.
Release away your blues,
draw a little bird.

Hang it on your wall
to lighten each passerby.
If only you, then that’s okay.
Hang it on the wall.

Write a little line
if just to make you smile.
It only lasts awhile,
but write a little line.


The Parting Heart

Poems and Things

Quiet, baby, go to sleep;
I’ve much to do and more to think.
My life has turned forever yours,
but please go to sleep, I do implore.

Yes, grow up faster and leave me be,
so one day I’ll wake to only me.
You’ll find me when tables have turned at last,
crying and pining for years past.

Here with a tear and a ruddy face,
I’ll be wishing back years for a second glance.
Gone with a smile, you’ll adventure new. 
Gone with a prayer, for you haven’t a clue.

You’ll be gone, I’ll pray on, that I’ll see you soon.
But today I’ll remember to see you bloom.
The parting heart in a mother runs deep,
that in baby and mother, we both weep.

Through Grasslands Blowing

Poems and Things

Like cattle my poems are lowing,
Tender words through grasslands blowing.
Where in the world will they possibly go?
I love that I will never know. 

What beautiful creatures, my poems of mine
whose syllables often rhyme.
Here they are, standing tall.
Here, or not at all. 

Stoic and noble, in the field standing sure,
simply passed by are my creatures pure.
Their beauty is sweet tranquility,
peaceful, unknown antiquity. 

But my words are fragile and glass-like,
I don’t want them up in the limelight.
They’re beautiful, changed if by some seen,
turning into what I don’t mean.

My courage wanes keeping them up on the wall
with the faintest dab of Elmer’s at all.
It’s my place, my land of poems;
It’s just me here though they roam.

Strangers pass through but don’t know me;
Space between us nurtures solidarity.
What a fragile, weak, yet beautiful thing
the hope of a someone to hear me sing.

Like cattle my poems are lowing,
Tender words through grasslands blowing.
Where in the world will they possibly go?
I love that I will never know.

Forgetting You

Poems and Things

You’re slipping away, hun.
I’m forgetting you.
And time sure robs my memory of eyes a headstrong blue.

The flushed red pain across my cheeks barely show at all-
For when I’m away from family
I’ll stop to feel the gall.

But lingering a moment less
each time I sit away,
Have got me where I feel the least,
and I move on with my day.

But I fear I’ll forget you completely
And all the memories will turn gray.
You were someone in my life
and I’ll never give that away.

Will you ever read these words,
where my heart I wring out and squeeze?
I’m sorry if I forget you,
But please remember me.

Type Me

Poems and Things

Sometimes my count says no,
but my body says yes because
a machine doesn’t know
what my body feels like.

A machine’s not my body.
My body is me.
You don’t know my body,
my body only knows me.

My chart says this,
but my body doesn’t see.
My body only knows
who I am is me.

“Happily me,”
typing to me.
Nothing else matters,
I’m Type Me.


Poems and Things

Greed made my face green.
The mirror was far from me.
This evil green monster came swirling around me.

A clear curtain transforming
an opaque barrier wall.
Replacing a kind face
with malice and gall.

Friend turned to enemy,
our love is at stake.
It’s mine, not yours,
not yours to take.

The yolk from the whites,
the church from state.
Like homeland from colonies
we were on the brink.

In a blink, a bat of an eye,
who I am began to fly by.
My sweetness soured
and whispered goodbye.

My soul gripped by Satan,
his hand fingering my chest.
Oh wretched sly snake prodding me to his nest.

I see you now, cretin,
there will be no mistake.
There will be no more sneaking
with your head on a stake.

Anger, greed,
malicious intent,
it’s nearly impossible
to circumvent.

Ennobling Mother

Poems and Things

Pat, pat, pat, pat,

A new mother holds her baby.

Pat, pat, pat, pat, 

Whose eyelids start to droop.

“I’m your mother, I’m your mother,”

The hands seem to sing.

“I’m your mother, I’m your mother,”

This brimming heart has waited.

“I’m her mother, I’m her mother,”

The ennobling name blooming.

“I’m her mother, I’m her mother,”

On her head a gold crown plaited.

Pat, pat, pat, pat,

Sweetly the baby complys.

Pat, pat, pat,

She’s fallen off to sleep.