A
Sampling of Poetry
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A
Sampling of Poetry
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The
Flower of My Soul
When the twilight sparkles down upon it's children of exhausted plight, my body rehearses its eternal goal while the garden windows of my soul release its flower into the night. Although the flower is deeply rooted, its stems reach out for the greatest warmth. 'Til it finds that comforting spot when the flower will blossom and give it's long awaited performance. Until that everlasting moment, the golden flower for my soul blossoms more and more. And in those barren hours of the night, it reaches further towards it sun, loosening its roots from its temporary core. After an interlude that is not seen by its soil, the flower is returned by its sun. The rehearsal is now over and the flower is brought back to the sculpture that's called me, then I awake, I speak, I see. |
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Blood
and Dust
Bones covered ... Sleeping Who were they? What do they mean to us? Fragile frames which once carried souls Who were you ... When? Monuments mark the area where loved ones gathered and cried ... mourning your loss Even they are gone Nothing but the broken Stones remain What now has become dust contributed to our being Their sweat...their strife Paved the world that we know today What have we done with it? Would they have cultivated this new soil knowing what it would become? That thier efforts would be buried in the dust with them? The Blood of which became us yearns for it’s new frontiers to fathom as they did We need something to create Not to destroy The barriers of time should be broken we can let the blood that boils within our viens carry new dreams for tomorrow honoring us and those before us. |
Direct My Sail
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Dad
By Deborah Nash in honor of Donald H. Nash Sr. 5/12/28 - 6/21/80 I woke up and thought of you After 22 years I still cried The pain will never go away lying dormant surfacing at times Someone asked me what you did When you lived from day to day. You were a blue collar guy Looking forward to retirement Modest dreams of a simple man A practical plan, never to be. It seems so strange that one Simple desire could be denied You life ended at age 52 A long time but not so long From that simple, modest goal I wonder what you would have done? Would you have sailed the wild sea Like your father and his before? Flown the sky to dreamt of places In a tiny Cessna all of your own? Would you have painted landscapes Or sketched the areas you loved and lost Would you have taken to the road on excursions with your faithful Schwinn? An overworked and overstressed heart Gave out, stealing you away from us. You left us on a pretty day in June Giving Mum a final smile of contentment. We didn't give you an easy life Family stresses robbed you of many days I didn't help in my rebellious youth You lived and struggled for family alone My tearstained face reflected on your lost life and all your dreams I hope that whatever they really were You are enjoying them now and always. It hurts to know that although I am your flesh and blood I never really got to know you and tell you Dad, I love you!... . . . But I do have my memories... Enjoying treats you brought on Saturday Mornings Hearing you laugh at Looney Tunes. Painting a shed, being Dad's little girl. Late nights, one beer allowed and Charlie Chan. In my heart you will live on and on. |
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D.C. In Hiding Solitude,
release, let me go |
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