Lou

                                           I am a poet

   I try to write the things I feel
   I chose my words with care,
   gently taking a tiny bite of each
   to ensure their taste lends the proper flavor
   to the visual meal I would prepare

   They need not rhyme, they need only find
   the proper passage from heart to mind
   to pen, and then again,
   from pen to mind to heart

   I am a poet
   I open myself to all that would come
   I am besieged by a barrage of images,
   a portion of which are precipitated by the senses.

   But the vast majority seems to need no catalyst
   They waft gently around my heart and my mind,
   their origin unknown
   Whether from within, or without, they are suddenly born,
   and beg statement

   These gathered images are culled, by the strength of their insistence,
   Those displaying the greater fervor are given voice,
   while the rest, seem to either dissipate, or wait patiently for their turn
   I am a poet
   I write of me, but to you

   And so I must find the part of me that is you,
   so that you may feel the part of you that is me
   It is of consequence to be understood
   to be recognized, to be felt
   Else, what meaning is there to the share

   A nod of acquiescence, a tear of acceptance,
   a smile of remembrance, a stare of contemplation
   are the applause that tell this writer,
   "You are a poet "

   Posted 2/11/02

             WHEN A BABY SLEEPS

   Have you ever kissed a baby�s cheek
   when he was asleep,
   and watched him purse his lips
   Have you ever held a baby�s foot,
   while he was asleep,
   and watched him curl his toes
   Have you ever touched a baby�s lips,
   with your fingertips,
   while he was asleep,
   and watched him twitch his nose
   Have you ever held a baby near,
   against your cheek,
   cuddled deep,
   in the nape of your neck,
   while he was asleep,
   and felt his sweet warm presence
   Have you ever watched a baby sleep,
   and marvel at his innocence
   Have you ever watched a baby sleep,
   and know his very being,
   is the reason church bells ring,
   and robins sing,
   and the sun is warm,
   and the world was born
   We strive to understand
   this world of man,
   our purpose for being here
   What must we do to find our truth,
   from far and bring it near
   We climb mountains high,
   cross oceans deep,
   to find what we�ll know
   when we watch a baby sleep

   Posted 2/11/02