They Don’t Want Me, But I’ll Stay
She had turned her head away,
Now she turned it slowly back again.
It was crimson
And there were tears in her eyes.
She spoke now with all the childishness
Back in her voice:
“Why should I go away?
And be made to go away?
They don’t want me,
But I’ll stay.
I’ll stay and make everyone sorry.
I’ll make them all sorry.
Found poem from The Moving Finger by Agatha Christie
Marigold Are Happy Souls
Marigolds are happy souls,
Faces turned to Heaven with smiles.
Mirroring like the moon the radiant sun,
Reflecting from ground upward.
This spring I added a single marigold
To each usual bed of
Purples and reds and whites,
Turmeric tinge of seasoning.
My garden is more joyful this year,
My heart along with it.
Thanks to the marigolds,
The happiest soul of flowers.
Two Found Poems
I didn’t sleep much.
I couldn’t, somehow, for thinking.
And every time I waked up
I thought somebody had me by the neck.
So the sleep didn’ do me no good.
By-and-by I says to myself,
I can’t live his way.
The sun was up so high when I waked,
That I judged it was after eight o’clock.
I laid there in the grass and the cool shade,
Thinking about things
And feeling rested and rather comfortable and satisfied.
I could see the sun out at one or two holes,
But mostly it was big trees all about,
And gloomy in there amongst them.
There was freckled places on the ground
Where the light sifted down through the leaves,
And the freckled places swapped about a little,
Showing there was a little breeze up there.
A couple of squirrels set on a limb and jabbered at me very friendly.
Found poems came from The adventures of Huckleberry finn, chapter 8.
Turbine of the Mind
Roads in state of disrepair,
Terns circling rain-created pond.
Auto junkyard on the right,
Why is it so hot out here?
Beeping horn from passing truck,
I left the stove on, I hope it’s fine.
A fire truck blares its siren;
I wonder where it is going.
A large branch falls from the huge oak tree,
Situated in my front yard.
It missed my car by a foot or more.
I really need a drink.
Papers scattered in the office,
No one to help them find their places.
A new novel started reading this morning.
New, but not really.
Feet hurt, but they’ve been worse.
There was a shark attack along the coast.
Lying in bed, mind won’t be quiet.
Mother’s birthday was two days ago.
Who knew life would be like this?
Original plans abandoned years ago.
The circus has closed, no shows anymore.
Vacation ends soon, too soon.
What powers this turbine?
Is there an ‘Off’ switch?
How do I harness its power?
Just as well. It’s mine.
Flashing Red Lights
Red lights, flashing to a metronome,
Warning drivers to come to a halt,
Lest they never make it home,
Causing accidents that were their fault.
They are not placed there for our harm,
Or to impede us in our own path.
So, a driver should approach them with great calm,
Pressing the brake, not creating great wrath.
Lights exist solely for our care,
To regulate safety along the road.
To prevent death and pain more than we can bear,
And to keep us from our eternal abode.
So, when in life, to a red light you come,
Do not breeze through, or ignore its sign.
Your future and safety and then some
Depend on stopping – not only yours, but mine.
I offered friendship, but you refused.
Kindness and compassion were not returned.
You showed such things to many others,
But none was directed to me.
I pondered, attempting to discover why,
Blaming myself first for your coldness.
So, I applied more grace, only to find
You much more distant, cold, and uncaring.
Finally, communication stopped altogether.
I still assumed the fault lay in me.
We would pass, and you would not acknowledge.
Just kept your head down and went on your way.
Conversations ceased with others when I approached.
You turned and left me alone.
Still, I wondered, what had I done?
What had I said? Or failed to do?
After prolonged time, I concluded you simply were not interested
In me as a friend, a colleague, or an acquaintance.
It grieved me and difficult to resolve.
I have, though still with the question of “why” unanswered.
I built a fire and enjoyed its glow one spring evening.
The coals, bright and red, mesmerized me in the dusk.
After a while, I replenished the fire with a fresh log,
Which caught quickly and augmented the flame.
Twice I refueled, giving me an abundance of reflection time.
I observed the logs being consumed,
And I pondered how life is similar.
We are consumed, like a log,
To provide what is needed in this world.
We go to work each day,
And we are consumed.
We provide for our family,
And we are consumed.
We meet needs of others,
And we are consumed.
We are different from logs, however.
Unlike a log, we regenerate,
Preparing to be consumed the next day
For the betterment of society,
For our family,
And for our business.
Yet every day, a small amount of us is permanently consumed,
Not to be replaced,
Until finally, after many years,
There remains nothing left to burn.
Hopefully, there remains in us enough life to enjoy.
If not, we simply fade into ashes like the finally-consumed log.
Beside the road on my morning walk,
Continuous litter polluted the view.
I felt dirty, though I touched it not,
Nor had I put it there myself.
I wondered why travelers in cars
Would think it permissible to throw their garbage
Out the window and on the ground,
Either to be collected by others,
Or more likely to remain there until it disintegrated
Years from now – or possibly never.
I later reflected on the litter in my life,
The things that leave me trashy, polluted, and unclean.
Some things I have left there on my own,
Discarded objects I hoped would dissolve,
But most likely merely to fester,
Their stench never quite going away.
Others have also littered my life,
Depositing their waste my way,
Things they had no desire to dispose of themselves,
Making me their polluted roadside.
Some people have difficulties dealing with litter.
They struggle to deal with what they have placed laid there themselves.
Dealing with what others have deposited can be a challenge as well,
Wrestling with memories, hurting words, feelings, and real pains.
Yet for our own peace, our own cleanness,
We must pick up the litter we can
And dispose of it in the right way.
Honeysuckle Seems Sweetest
Honeysuckle seems sweetest
On a late May walk
At half past seven
The sun not yet driven away
The cool of the night,
And the odors waft upon the tender morning breeze.
Earth opens her perfumery in spring,
Lightening the hearts of men and women
Whose senses have waxed dull
By the dreariness of winter.
Fill the heart.
New resolve to create,
Inspired by longer, warmer days,
And the fragrances of blossoms.
But especially the sweetest honeysuckle.
Cool Evenings in Spring
Evenings this time of year,
Blowing their cool breaths,
Infusing the mind with hope and joy,
Providing comfort and rest at the conclusion of day.
The sky, blushing with pride at producing such magnificence,
Inspiring birds to warble their last before nightfall,
The moon, the planets, and the stars,
Popping out in the twilight and from behind dissipating clouds,
Making me wish every night a repeat performance.
The cool of the evening.
Perhaps like in the Garden?
Perhaps like heaven will be.
A Sea of Glory
I opened the door,
And my eyes plunged in
To a sea of glory.
Wave upon wave they swilled with delight.
A smile creased my lips,
Delight whispered to my spirit,
Thankfulness infused my soul.
Those breakers of blue against the foamy rich green.
The roar of the waters came suddenly
In the voices of cicadas and songbirds.
My morning swim during hot summer days,
Easing into fall, until the frost evaporates the sea.
Mariners take delight and comfort in the ocean,
Yet none experience such wonder as this.
The mousie ate my tortilla chips,
But left a little cheese.
He also gave some pesky fleas,
From his back and from his hips.
I could not thank him nearly ‘nough
For causing me to be fitfully gruff.
My wife, she laughed and clapped with glee,
To find me in an upset state
With little food left on my plate
So small, too small to see.
I then determined upon that mouse,
To rid forever from my house.
I thought in future years I should rejoice
To think of that gray schemer,
And how I became a rodent dreamer,
And lifting loudly in baritone voice,
That I was sole cause of its demise,
Withholding nothing from family’s eyes.
I set half dozen cunning traps,
And woke up startled late one night,
To find caught villain in such a plight.
My wife, she begged, asking, “Perhaps,”
I might release it out the door,
Or at least take to neighboring pet store.
Instead I grabbed my hammer bold,
With hatred in my eye,
Then wife and children began to cry,
Yet I inclined to be so cold,
That though the mousie stood so brave,
I would send it to a smashing grave.
Alas, I relented, let go of wrath
The mousie seemed to understand,
How my resolve was undermanned
When I loosed it on freedom’s path.
It’s a day over which I eternally brood,
For that mousie continued to eat my food.
Apostrophe to a Companion
Always beside me, there you are;
And have been since my earliest memories.
You discover new ways to keep me young –
In mind anyway.
You make every experience appear to be a first time.
You evoke a smile, a laugh, a cheer, or a groan of anguish,
A clap of the hands or a wringing of them.
You compel words to project from my mouth,
Or me to rise to my feet.
You are my oldest companion.
You cheered my successes,
And challenged me to rise from defeat,
To attempt again.
You allowed me to believe I was pursuing you,
All the while you pursued me.
As I age, the memories of my youth with you
Bring nothing but pleasant thoughts, a slight smile.
And as I observe your touch on others,
I find that I am really cheering you, not them.
You keep me young,
You fan enthusiasm,
And I get to to tell others of all our experiences together.
Truly, you keep me young.
I want it to remain this way until my final second arrives.
Fresh Buds Late Summer
Nature blooms new each spring;
School sprouts fresh buds late summer.
Thoughts meander through minds
Of students and teachers alike:
Will I like them, and they me?
It takes merely days to grow new relationships
From the buds of the new year’s beginning.
New ones formed,
Some gone forever like last year’s leaves,
But each moves forward with new growth
That will come these next 10 months,
In some more than others.
The environment will have its effect:
Changes at home,
Some for good, others not.
Besides the classroom and the learning,
Athletics, art, music,
Clubs, vacations, and sickness
Will leave marks as well.
In the end everyone will change.
Towns by interstates long bypassed
Housing families many generations
In the midst of uncountable acres of corn –
Tall, ripening, full, tasseled, and proud.
Communities bound by common events:
Plowing, planting, harvesting,
Putting up hay, church suppers, socials,
Celebrations of marriages, funerals, county fairs,
Birthing calves and humans.
Ordinary, regular tasks that constitute life:
Jaunts to the grocery
Or to visit family.
Past soy beans lush and green
On the artery that connects east coast to west,
From Maryland to Sacramento,
‘Round curves, down hills,
Traversing rivers and creeks and streams,
Sniffing scents of corn, cut grass, and manure.
A tree nursery appears beyond the bend,
Thousands of saplings striving to survive
And become rustic skyscrapers,
Or protecting them from inclement weather.
A stop at a diner, a place whose existence was unknown prior to today.
We are the only first-time patrons,
But we are not strangers.
A small country store interests us.
We purchase things insignificant, yet memorable.
Finally, an orchard.
Delicious cherry cider – sweet, red, inviting.
A gallon to go, please.
Then return to the suburbs,
To the dwelling called home,
To recall the drive
That burned itself into permanent memory,
And in future days, like a Siren,
Beckons to quaff its fullness again.