And it was at that age poetry arrived in search of me

My trip back to high school cre­ative writ­ing class con­cludes with poetry. It will, I’m pretty sure, make you go blind. Peo­ple keep ask­ing me why I’ve posted this stuff, and the truth is, I’m not really sure. It was either post it or burn it; you’re lucky it’s August and too hot for a fire. Any­way, enjoy?

A Pair of Leaves

Like rivers flow­ing to the sea
To end in peace­ful har­mony
A pair of leaves drifted, tree­less
To a quiet end of their world
But their attempted sui­cide
Was soon thwarted by a gust­ing
Well-meaning wind, who saved a life
Angry, old and with­ered, with­out
A com­pelling rea­son to live
The tree, at least, saw fit to thank
The breeze who saved a pair of leaves.

Spring

Win­ter suc­cumbs to the cycle of life
Its sever­ity replaced
By pleas­antries of the eye.
Ears too rejoice, for the sounds of the
New sea­son now fill the air,
Min­gle with a scent, fresh and gen­tly
Warm, like a kiss.
Take care, kind days, and be hum­bled;
Fear not, sweet sur­ren­der­ing
Win­ter, for tomor­row you too are reborn.

Why

The stars to us are just out of reach,
Yet lay unno­ticed beneath immor­tal feet.
Why is it that for them we would fight,
While the gods ignore their heav­enly light?
Why do they desire our sweet, sim­ple life?
And why do we fill it with hatred and with strife?
We have all we need in love, a smile, a tear.
How can that com­pare to more wasted years?

Danc­ing with the Muse

When asked to write a page tonight
Those few words fill some with fright
They whine and say they have no time
But they do write, with­out the rhymes

And as I’m asked to sit and think
Call the muse, go out for drinks
Or danc­ing in the snow
As we drink and dance, I know

Do you know? I want to write
Some­thing for spe­cial peo­ple, who might
Know what I mean, but oth­ers would be lost
And so I take chances despite the cost

I real­ize no one knows right now
They say I’m lost and don’t know how
To deal with some­one like me
I would tell them and show them how easy

How per­fectly sim­ple to end the strife
And together under­stand this life
As well as can be under­stood
Com­pro­mise for col­lec­tive good

When at last I coax the muse
Out of hid­ing so I might use
The pow­ers only she can wield
And she peeks from behind my shield

She looks out into the rain
And sets about end­ing the pain
And con­fu­sion that every­one shares
Until one man, left stand­ing there

Defi­antly with­out pain, and she
Joins him, and they leave me
But I can at least know in my heart
The muse and I will never part

And so to end my tale and frame it all
To please picture-hangers great and small
With this mes­sage I depart
For those seek­ing some­thing smart

I live now in padded cells
My last works were received not well
I still make a rhyme or three
But no sharp objects for me