Category Archives: Poetry

Floating

Sometimes the winds stop and my sails fall, then
All I’m left with is the quiet and dark,
No mark of my horizon can I see,
Just me, in this moment drifting alone,
My own compass not able now to guide,
Beside me, loneliness I thought at bay,
Today, it shows its final hand’s not played,
Afraid I might remain out here afloat,
My throat constricts, my hope it does rescind,
In my boat, I can only wait for wind.

Opinions in Reserve

No revenge, no conspiracies,
This day’s for them,
And for their stories,
There are other days,
For those other things,
Political maneuverings,
But today’s just for memories,
Heartfelt, intent,
From when time did freeze,
For families and individuals,
So many lost,
So many brave souls,
So many futures,
Instantly crushed,
Blown away,
In 9-11’s dust,
So hold your breaths,
Opinions in reserve,
Give these deaths,
The respect they deserve.

Nine Eleven

Nine Eleven.
As with JFK,
And then John Lennon,
Moments that we
Indelibly,
Have pressed into our memory,
Carved there by shock,
When worlds were rocked,
And we could only reel,
Too numb to feel,
Beyond belief,
United,
By collective grief,
Wrenched in time,
So now we find,
We’re all aware,
Of exactly where,
We were.

Just a thing.

Just a thing that used to be,
You and me,
Though once we flew close to the sun,
Our dreams stripped raw,
Our plans new spun,
Felt sure we were supposed to be,
Everything was you and me,

But soon it all became undone,
We were not us, but each just one,
Alone, and guarding our own pride,
Shielding what we have inside,
Licking wounds, and wondering why,
In the end we have to cry,

But tears go by,
With each new dawn,
And though we limp,
We still move on,
Till time it morphs,
And you and me,
Are just a thing,
That used to be.

Les Jeans Bleu

My French, I know,
Is beaucoup bad.
So, please pardonnez.
Mais oui, c’est vrais.

But it is an homage,
(Another French word)
To those trousers blue,
Worn by me and you.

We think of them,
As American, but,
They came from France,
Those indigo pants.

More precisely from,
La Ville de Nîmes.
From whence denim came,
And got its name.

So I’d just like to say,
Merci beaucoup.
Sans jeans I’d be nude,
And I’d hate to be rude.

Beige, is not a colour.

From cleanshaven vegan
To bearded carnivore,
Like to mix and fix and tricks it up,
See what life has in store,
A million crayons in the box,
Though they say there’s sixty-four,
Don’t fool me with your silly talks,
I know there’s so much more,
Want to be and free and see it all,
Shake it up down to the core,
Do things I think I haven’t thought,
Too much world to ignore,
Want to sail away on brand new waves,
And never come ashore,
Climb highest hills dive deepest caves,
Open every single door,
People, places, points of views,
Experience galore,
Whatever direction you choose,
Life should not be a bore,
No new chance should you refuse,
Stop meowing and roar!
It’s all just sitting there for you,
What are you waiting for?
Don’t wait, create, go celebrate,
Life’s not meant to be a chore,
And beige,
Is not a colour.

Kitten’s Ride of Terror

I’m a kitten. Don’t know better.
Wanted to escape the weather.
Now I’m alone and stuck up here.
A tiny little ball of fear.
For my life has just begun.
Should be full of joy and fun.
But instead it’s full of strife.
As I hold on for dear life.
Not knowing what’s to come.
Or what happened to my mom.
Holding on and holding tight,
As I scream with all my might.
A tiny noise. May not go far,
Over the engine of the car.
Can you hear me? Cease to drive!
And I might make it out alive.
Oh please! Please come and get me.
Give me lots of love and pet me.
I swear I’ll be a loving friend.
And I’m never doing this again!

Inspired by this news article: Kitten straddles gas tank in 70-km ride of terror