My Inner Poet

Fix You

2007-11-02T14:39:00.000-07:00

If I could fix you
If I knew your hurt
I would come, tools in hand
No matter the storm

If I could fix you
If I knew your pain
I'd dig as deep as I needed too
Regardless of the risk

If I could fix you
If I knew your need
I'd give you the world plus infinity
Even if it meant I would want

If I could fix you
If I knew just how
I would be overstepping my bounds
So I leave it to God now

Why do we long?

2007-03-22T22:28:00.001-07:00

Why do we long?

It is the love-lorn that long
For the touch of a loving hand.
But the first to say "nay"
When it might truely appear.

Why should we love?

It is the love-lorn that look
Upon the lovers on the walk,
And say to themselves, "What is there
to keep two together?"

Why must we love?

It is the love-lorn that sit
And stew on the lack of love
Only to deny the need,
Even when it is obvious.

Why won't I love?

It is the love-lorn that look
At the relations of the past,
And realize what it was
That made them love-lorn in the first place.

Why do I long?

Haiku

2007-03-20T22:30:00.001-07:00

Whipped, blowing, blasted
Sand clouds the eyes and the mind
Imagination

---

Red, yellow, orange
Autumn comes with silent steps
Winter's counterpoint

---

Spinning, whirling down
My foot steps beyond its bounds
The leaves turn to dust

---

Forest, tree, flower
The heart of life on the Earth
Beauty supports life

The Clarvoiant

2007-03-17T22:50:00.001-07:00

In my sleep, I would dream.
And in my dreams, I would see the future.

I once saw the death of an animal in my dreams.
I wondered what I could do to change this.
But I was told the future is written.
It cannot be changed.
The animal died.

I once saw a building burn in my dreams.
I wondered whom I could tell to change this.
But I was told the future is written.
It cannot be changed.
The building burned.

I once saw a storm kill a town in my dreams.
I wondered whom I could warn to change this.
But I was told the future is written.
It cannot be changed.
The storm killed.

I once saw a small nation destroyed in my dreams.
I wondered whom I could inform to change this.
But I was told the future is written.
It cannot be changed.
The nation was destroyed.

I once saw a country divided by war in my dreams.
I wondered to whom I could plea to change this.
But I was told the future is written.
It cannot be changed.
War divided the country.

I once saw myself alone in my dreams.
I decided that I would do something to change this.
But I was told the future is written.
It cannot be changed.
When love found me, I did not turn it away.

I was not alone.

And I told them...the future is not written.
It can be changed.

And I dreamed for eternity.

Winter

2007-03-14T22:11:00.001-07:00

Bright, cold, dry

The winter morning comes,
Sharp and brittle.
The ground is hard under my feet,
My footprints infinitely shallow.

Cloudy, cold, soft

The clouds come in,
Heavy and grey.
I look towards the sky;
I have not seen it in a year.

Blowing, cold, snowing

The snow begins to come,
Light and fluffy.
It hits the ground,
Each flake adding to the whole.

Dense, cold, blustery

The blizzard hits,
Dark and thick.
The snow rises from the ground
Like the waters of ancient times.

Blowing, cold, snowing

The blizzard has left the land
White on white.
Snow stretched out for miles,
Covering the land completely.

Cloudy, cold, soft

The flurries end their persistence,
White on white
The air is cold and dry again,
The snow the only indication of what's happened.

Bright, cold, dry

The clouds disappear,
Bright and brittle
The snow sparkles in the sun;
A world full of diamonds.

Everyone has an Inner Poet

2007-03-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

At least, I think so. I know I was shocked as heck when my hands started spewing poetry. I won't claim that it is good, but it is definitely different than anything that I write normally.

So, I figure now is as good a time to start posting some of it. Much of this that I will be posting is new, but some I've written a few years ago. No one has ever seen it until now. I'll start this blog with a quote from one of my favorite poets:

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.
--T. S. Eliot