Plea to My Son: Wisdom Living

So many times in life I thought I knew what was best
And I wore the vest of pride in stride with arrogance,
And I tried with all of my might to make it all so right
Only to fall into the dark night of the soul with a hole
In my heart and my mind bound against sound reason,
Collapsing into an awful season of tumultuous unrest,
And all the while there were blessings untold for me
That I could just barely see in the distance but would
Not touch in my insistence to forge ahead with plans
Of my own that were sown in isolation and darkness;
And, oh, how I wish now that I could go back and bow
To sense and sensibility, to rewrite my past in lasting
Joy and peace with a new lease on life . . . but no, son,
This I cannot do and so I sue myself in the court of life
So rife with pain and such little gain from such insane
Decisions and I hold my history in derision, my child;
So I say to you, do not walk the same path I’ve walked,
But be sober-minded and clear-headed and do pray
Before you say what you think you want and then leap
Without looking! Read the book of your own father
To learn and burn not with zeal but hear without fear
Wise counsel offered and open your eyes to see gifts
Already bestowed in your life and do not thrown away
What has been so freely given to enliven your fantasy!
Sense and sensibility under the cover of prayer, my son;
Take the higher and better road; yes, the better road!

Double Tanka on Friendship

You find your real friends
When you are going through hell
It’s easy to tell
They are just around the bend
And only love do they send

Fake friends can’t be found
In pain they are not around
And they make no sound
They leave you to stand alone
And with no love to be shone

A Place Called Home

Setting your pace within your very own place
Known to you as home, where seeds are sown
In assurety of the security of your safe haven,
A place you do not have to hide in craven fear,
Where you can freely visit those near and dear,
Somewhere dry and warm where you fly high
And no longer have to try to smile a mile wide
Or hide how you feel, and kneel down in peace
With a new lease on life; after all you’re home
. . .
Setting your pace within your very own place
Somewhere dry and warm where you fly high

Home

Home . . . a place to call my own
Where in secret dreams are sown

A bed where to lay my head
And find the best rest for my body weary

A table where to eat my daily bread
After thankful prayer is said

Home . . . where ideas are freely sought
Home . . . where there is liberty of thought

Safe and secure from all alarm
Walled in securely from all harm

Far above and beyond mere survival
Home . . . where there is daily revival

Home . . . where God is ever so near
And there is no need for fear

Home . . . where there is the heart
And of life every best part . . . home

What Have You Lost?

It’s not the same anymore with a broken heart;
I walk and talk with you, and it tears me apart!
Yes there are smiles all the while but so vacant
And I just want to cry because I do know
That day we really did say our ‘goodbye;’
It was an ending without any new beginning
But you made your choice with definite voice
And now you’re left alone to just pretend,
Yet fail to apprehend what you have done;
But perhaps I’m wrong and you’re really strong
And at peace with a new lease on living this life;
Ahh! But then you seem to have cut yourself off
From anyone who ever genuinely cared for you!
O what’ve you lost for the sake of that albatross!
But who am I to say?
. . .
It’s not the same anymore with a broken heart;
I walk and talk with you, and it tears me apart!

Cry for Me Crying for You

Ah! My love! Cry for me crying for you
So emotionally bruised and confused;
You have been used and misused now
For so long you think it’s where you belong,
But how wrong you are! O sing a new song!
Take my tears and wash your face
And embrace a brand new reality
In finality of chasing what is base!
Ah! My dear! You pull tears from my eyes
As I spy him round every corner, lurking,
Knowing he’s bound to hurt you yet again
But you can’t see the sin ‘n you never win!
Oh my God, my God! You call his hate love
And I cry above to every angel who’ll hear
To steer you away from this dark delusion
And I know they care but can they repair?
Can they repair the damage already done
Under sun, moon and stars so far away?
No! No! You pop his pill
And then lay so very still
To bask in sleepy fantasy
To mask a very real pain!
What do you gain, then, save stain of guilt
And remorse ‘cause you took that course?
O can you not see and finally be free?
Or do you rather enjoy your chains?
Are you so insane that
You’ve slain your heart?
Ah! My love! Cry for me crying for you
So emotionally bruised and confused!
Cry for me crying for you to be so true,
So true to yourself to finally be free . . .
Ah! My love! Cry for me crying for you


Note: It must have been a better month for me than I knew at the time. Here is another poem previously published in November 2016, being republished now due to some renewed interest as well as for the enjoyment of new reader-followers. (And I’m very thankful to say that quite a few folks have decided to follow this blog just over the last few weeks! Thank you!)

Oh Sister! Needless Complexity in Life

Profusion of confusion
Complexity of perplexity
Exclusion of conclusion

And you feel wired and tired at the same time
And you feel cheery and weary at the same time

Ignoring the real-time life crisis
Trying psychological zymolysis
Result is your psychic cytolysis

And you are in a turmoil
Your brain about to boil
From the truth you recoil

But . . . this is your life, so rife with pain, no gain,
And this is your choice to ignore your inner voice,
So what am I to say? This is certainly not my way!
I truly do love you and wish you all the best
And eventually, one day, peace and rest . . .
One day, some way
Someday, I do pray

So Soon to Fly Away . . . But Comes the Day

There comes that time for birds to away-fly the nest,
And this is best as the Creator provides for maturity
In the surety of independence in security of the self
After being brought the necessities of life for a time
And taught the ways of night and day in this world,
But, oh, how hard for papa to let go, as the bard tells:
He would practically sell his soul to keep them home
And he could write a tome of all of the reasons why
They are not quite ready to fly away into sunlit day;
Instead, he sheds many tears and lets go of his fears
As he promises always to be near when if need calls
And they’re about to fall, but there is yet a farewell
The pain of which only parents can tell . . . farewell;
Not that they will not see them again as time spins,
But it is different — a sort of reverent suffering —
As the new birds fly high into the sky as papa sighs:
He once flew to that altitude with confident attitude
And an healthy amount of gratitude to his Maker . . .
Ah! But is his offspring not now flying higher than he,
And is it not supposed to be this way . . . yes, this day!
And so the generations pass with lad and lass gone
While the next one is given birth on this age-old earth
. . .
So it is and so it shall be

He Chose the Highway

He chose the feast with fine wine over the garbage bin in the din of the world;
He chose lighthearted dancing rather than prancing through all of the rubbish;
He chose bright light, even amid the night, instead of fright in dæmonic blight;
He chose the pasture of tall, lush grass rather than pass through the wasteland,
And to drink from the cool, clear stream and beam with an heavenly gladness;
Yes, he chose to live an alive life instead of merely persisting in simply existing;
But he does shed some tears as he hears sad cries and sees those but living lies;
To know that one so near and dear lives in fear of losing what she never had . . .
Oh! It tears his heart apart like a fiery dart to his soul,
Which is otherwise a bowl-full of joy, peace and love!
But he has chosen the higher way, to live in the day all along this way of live life;
And pray . . . yes, he prays for the day his loved one will be set free into liberty,
But he cannot turn back to gloom and doom to save her; he is surely not a knave
Though brave he may be; he is wise enough
To know he has no place in such dark show;
So he continues along the highway in the brightness of numinous day every day,
And rejoices in the sunshine, laughing, singing, and glad to dine with fine wine!