Tag Archives: Poem

Dream While You Can

Dream while you can
Til it fades in the dawn:
The dawn of marriage,
The dawn of kids,
The uncountable dawns
Of the life that you live –
Look! There! Can you see
Responsibilities break
Through the clouds
Of dreams left behind:
Ambiguous, undefined, hidden
In the depths of your mind –
Taken over by dreams
Taken over in kind.

Be Still

Sometimes (thought too rarely, in truth),
I like to sit and be still, to
Listen to the world and
Empty my mind of thought, of plans –
No worries, no inner monologue: a
Calm, tranquil pool of water, too often too
Easily unsettled, unbalanced, or drained

A Harsh Lesson

Eager little buds
Poke their heads out of the snow
And wish to return

Governed by a Fickle Director

Some ancient myth – No,
Propaganda proposed by
Rapacious clothing stores. Or
Ill-conceived set changes,
Not timed well, constantly re-ordered –
Governed by a fickle director.

Nearly Inconceivable

Major yet somehow
Possible – in theory
Or, at least, in
Some futures: Nearly
Inconceivable, with
Noisome overtones and
Grueling implications.


I turned my back on a play to do another day.
It turned its back in turn – too late? Absurd!
A lesson learned (unheard).

Simple Truths

From or to
With and for,
The company is
And isn’t.

Together without,
They’re apart within,
From all that was
At present.

So shall be
What cannot be
And so shan’t be
What should.

Can’t or can,
The words alone:
Horrible, awful,

Through Open Eyes

Through open eyes, you see the dream,
A whisper’s length from reach.
You hear it creep though it doesn’t move,
You feel its voice though it doesn’t speak —
A taste of flame that doesn’t heat,
So perfect formed, so incomplete.
You stare in longing and back away,
Away into a void
Where reason lies with emotion’s voice
And tells you nothing at all,
And from such strong persuasion,
You willingly let it fall.

A Story Untold

A story untold cannot be seen when
Untyped, unwritten, untaped:
Where could such a book be bought?
Where could such a play be heard
Or such a film be played?
And yet, as thoughts build up the plot,
As conflicts rise and peak,
A light brush paints emotions, clear,
Upon the author’s cheek.
Eyes cast inward cannot see
The painting on display.
Eyes without can only guess
The book or movie or play.

Payment in Advance

I pay now for another’s choice
But also for my own
I did not speak out or raise my voice –
And that shame is mine alone.
My silence then was cowardice,
My disbelief unwise,
But to keep them now, to turn my back,
Is closing more than eyes.

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