Indian Summer For Our Emotions

We all seek happiness

In the corners of dark forgotten recesses

Where nightmares rule

and monsters dwell

until chased by beings of light

We all are akin to those light beings

That can take forlorn and despair

And churn them miraculously, swiftly

Into ample amounts of glee and elation

Thought to be unattainable for so long

We must be patient though!

For the relentless advance of time

Is unbending and unforgiving

Yet it will be forced to reveal

An Indian Summer of our dreams

We can never predict the cycles of our emotions

As we experience their waxing and waning

And like the Moon

The phases are always in flux

As we try avoid an eclipse of the heart

- Gary B.                                 

Emotions Afire

Her anger erupted

Like a solar flare

The burning rays emanating

Indiscriminately but with purpose

She needed her pain to reach him

He could not read the message

But it penetrated his soul

And screamed of troubles she harbored

And the burdens she bear

For there were many

And she was only one

He tried to penetrate her layers

To uncover a love he knew waited

Like a Prince Charming

Paving an escape route

From the past she continued to endure

He only knew of feelings

That overflowed from within him

A love that had grown

Without boundaries, just pure emotion

From a heart that was starved for too long

We are never prepared

For the consequences of love

It teases us to do and say things
That hurt like in pin pricks

And in the midst of passion we struggle

Of Day and Night

                      
                          

Heal the Soul

A loving heart

cannot be mended

when the mind rebels

and turns cupid's arrows

into painful swords

They pierce our soul

seeking out our demons

to scheme and connive

to twist and dement us

we become an anti-self

This is not who we are!

We are compassionate and kind

born from a mother's womb

that has nurtured and taught

What is good and what is not

Oh tormented soul!

Do not succumb to torrid anger

arising from humiliation or defeat

Retaliate no more; remove the swords

restore them as symbols of hope

Heal the soul and tame the demons

We are capable of these things

when we realize that pain has a purpose

to remind us that we are still human

The Screaming Zilgen: A St. Patty's Day Poem

This poem was written by my good childhood friend and I about three decades ago. I thought it was time to share it on the day for which it was intended.

(To be recited with an Irish accent.)

The Screaming Zilgen

I walked right into Kelly's

To get me self a brew

So Kelly served up a Screaming Zilgen

And said "The joke's on you!"

Said I "What is this Zilgen"

"That you lay before me eyes?"

Said he "Not sure but they likes it"

"That is until they dies"

It was green as the old Irishman Kelly himself

And hot as a wet Leprechan

Without delay and with great malaise

I drove up north to Oregon

In Portland now in all the rage

There were Screaming Zilgens galore

So I flew myself back to the East Coast

And found there even more!

Can I not escape this Zilgen?

It screams, it slurps, it joggles

Be careful when you drink it, lads!

Make sure you're wearin' goggles

Alas, I returned to me watering hole Kelly's

Where I saw him lying on the table

His last words were "It's not so bad"

"But I'd forgotten to read the label!"

I Walk Among the Silent Trees

I walk among the silent trees

Like monks who are obedient

Occasionally whispering a leaf

Hinting that they are not asleep

For they are wise to man

Their children, growing green in the wind

Flutter to escape the womb

With clingy sticky stems

The womb is not so readily left

Besides, where would they go?

I wonder what these trees would say

Of man’s stewardship here

Some trunks bear witness

To the ravaging of landscapes

And of friends decapitated

How steadfast these trees

A testament to endurance

They will remain on guard

Their children released

To quietly replenish what was taken

Shattered Crystal

I wrote this poem some time ago in the midst of feeling sad about losing a close friend. I hope you find it worthy of good poetry. (Whether I am a good poet or not I leave up to discriminating tastes.)