So many treasures
From all across the wide world
Hist’ry in a room
Nary a thought
I had not oft questioned my earthly path
Until I found the road came to an end—
Not just an end, a cliff before me then—
No way to turn but back to what I knew
And question then did I all that I knew
The birds, the skies, my God, the very ground
Each thing that once was sure I’ve questioned since
My path was found to end with nar’ a thought
I am not an astronaut
‘Reach for the stars,’ they say
‘And you’ll make it someday’
Believing fully in the pow’r of will
That with naught but your dream,
With riches you will teem!
Forgot have they that which will my dream kill:
I
Am
Not
An
Astronaut
418
Thinking of beaches
Warm sand and sun
Lost in a heavenly dream
Sonnet 11 – Breakdown
Alas! As if my brain had turnt to sludge
I’ve lost my will to write; each lonely drop
Of creativity won’t spark, won’t budge
They each insist they cease, desist, and stop
My lexicon’s diminished, torn to shreds
I’m scarce able to rhyme, resigned to plod
Along all day until it’s time for bed(s)
And write, ‘blah blah, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah’.(d)
Not long before the meter will succumb
To frazzled, twisted thoughts that can’t quite form
Coherent, structured sentences dumb
They make so little sense anymore
Perhaps I’ll turn to reading now instead
Perhaps somehow it can reset my head
No life
Full cups
Full coffers
Full shelves
Full drawers
Full pockets
Full closets
But no love
No life at all
At odds
Have I not
Proven myself?
Have I not
Done what is necessary?
Have I not
Gone above and beyond?
I believe I have
They say I have not
413
Questions ever flow
Answers seldom come
And yet so oft we say we know the truth
Spring (Green)
Green, green
The world smells of green
The blossoms are dewed
The buds shift along with the wind
The old flies away
The new takes its place
And the world smells of glorious green
A con for the ages
Was walking down the way
When to me great surpray
I came across a wee canine-ish lad
I kissed and reached me hand
When off across the land
I heard a great commotion; I’d been had!
It was a nasty trick!
The wee canine-ish prick
Had brought along his pack of mangy mates!
Surrounded now am I
A barking party by
And though I run they follow through me gates
Inside, I lock the door
But ‘las, ‘twere not before
The pups went round and came in through the back!
So now I’ve fam’ly got—
Though, by my choice, ‘twere not—
If even they are just a rowdy pack.
A Poem A Day 