Poetry, writing

Poetry Volume 1

Poetry Volume 1:

 A Winter’s Day

It came upon a winter’s day

Though as the snow was cold and lay,

Blanketing all the autumnal ground

Hoping for spring’s heat to slow its leaps and bounds

 

Upon this day it came to me

A small, oh so small

Yellow and black

Baby bumblebee

 

Frigid, and frostbitten

Yes it was

Although still working and loyal

Was its living cause

 

Free from harm

I let it crawl to my hand

Inside the house I brought it

And placed it in a pan

 

Slowly heating it back to life

My good heart was so short lived

For as the insect gained back its strength

No mercy did it give

 

Up from the pan it flew

Buzzing as it came

It landed straight along my chin

Inflicting its last pain

 

I swatted and I hit

All my kindness quickly gone

And then I chucked that dead bumblebee

Out upon the lawn

 

For as the snow did melt

And bitter cold faded swiftly away

I would shortly see many more just as I had

Upon this winter’s day

 

A Dream Of Ignorance

Forensic, tall, and looming

The great detective peered searching

Troubled by the impending case, hanging unsolvable

Above his head

 

Though every clue had been

Deciphered at his intelligent best

Not a soul lived knowing

When justice would ever come

 

Hunched in despair

A tragedy case he appeared

Haunted by the horrors of

Unobtainable knowledge

 

For what could it be?

What had been misplaced?

The questions demanded answers

The demands found him lost

 

Yet then, there it was

A sound upon the glass

The window allowed a tapping

Then behind him, on the stair a creaking

 

A rising shadow approaching

With backup just outside

The detective rose to meet his match

The qualms of rare ignorance attacking his prideful mind

Sweat was dripping

Was his blood to be shed?

The shadow grew only larger

The tapping only louder

 

Failure at best

Was a word he could think

Yet this was all much too much

To keep him in his sleep

 

He arose from the clammy sheets

With a heart beating as one never should

He looked upon the unsolved case files

Haunted he would continually be

 

When Nature Bites Back

That night seemed to dance

The water sparkle brilliant

The stars appeared to never fade

With a story ever resilient

 

It had truly only begun

For in an instant more would start

As the rushes began to play

And a frog sang from its heart

 

Croaking, whistling, chirping

To a fool it sounded mad

Yet nature kept on singing

Its merriment was to be had

 

But humans, yet they must

Often disturb the peace

And one came from the shadows

And let its rifle release

 

It sliced the night air harshly

Imploring it to bleed

Different plans however were in store for the human

Quite different plans indeed

 

Crash!  Boom!  Piercing light

Seemed to engulf the sky

A sudden, tremendous hurricane

Gathered in nature’s eye

 

The waters once so calm

The rushes once so still

Whipped along with the wind

The sight could make one ill

 

A downpour, none the less

Poured upon the soul

Of the man once so menacing

The man once so cold

 

A funnel cloud immense

And with no more time to waste

Twirled, and scooped, and took the human

With never a greater haste

 

And for an onlooker getting lucky

For one who saw this sight

Was always and forever warned

To never disturb the night

 

For shortly following this scene

And an awful one at that

The painful, desperate storm cloud

Turned in upon its mat

 

And all was still and musical

As if time had just been paused

Forever a pond of beauty

Forever a nature with claws

 

Wings on Canvas

Watermarks of golden light

Reflect on tawny-colored canvas

No remembrances of night

Exist to stain imperfect innocence

 

Strong flies the dove

Against the blank and untouched

Living in harmony with hereinabove

A painting barely started, and a life tight clutched

Then in comes the painter’s brush

First in sight and sound

Hues of baby blue and violet-pink plush

Send memories rare to rebound

 

The canvas awaits hues

Hues of sharp, hues of dark

Yet it remains absent from clues

Of tints miserable in mark

 

Though time responds to none

Control whom everyone lacks

So swooping enters the sun

Painting with a light so ever black

 

Canvas tarnished and in foil

Longs for its previous blanks

While bird in hopeless toil

Fights for homelike banks

 

Though not torn and intricately woven

Fresh whites only turned to grey

Perhaps the path not chosen

Was to be the blessing for a new day

 

While color freshened corners

And the wings flew a kinder age

Dimness seeks no borders

A canvas cannot turn its page

 

Where will the joy be found?

In moments fleeting

I swear I find its light

In moments staying

In moments flight

 

Yet darkness encompasses

My overall sight

The shadows lengthen

Welcoming the night

 

Where Will The Joy Be Found?

 

Where will the joy be found?

 

I see it in his face

It often reflects mine

Yet never to last

Never to find

 

The window is closing

Yet it never shuts

It leaves me bloody and fighting

The glass bring me cuts

 

To be cut off

To know the bliss

To never remember

The warmth of joy’s kiss

 

Where will the joy be found?

 

I long to forget

To lose my belief in return

Yet myself still hopes

The fire will forever burn

 

Where will the joy be found?

 

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