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Each book has been different and has been challenging in its own way to write.

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Each Poem Has A Pain Of Its Own

EACH POEM HAS A PAIN OF ITS OWN

Each poem has a pain of its own
The failures of a lifetime cannot be forgiven in a minute
I wasted my inheritance on words
I am not a rock- solid being
In the hard- making of money
I gave myself to kindness and dreams
And they repaid me with poverty and loneliness.
I wish I had a way of saying the most beautiful words
In the most striking and elegant way
But what I have is my own small complaints and fears
And a lifetime of papers on which are piled my lost minutes.

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Love Has A Mind Of Its Own

Think about me and you
Think of all the changes weve
Been through
The laughter an the tears, the
Years together
Little did we both know
When we fell we gave up all control
Though times get hard
Were strong enough to carry on
cause
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
(I) stayed awake last night
Told myself that this time we were
Through
That passion wasnt pair, my heart
Had changed
But then in the morning light
The feeling cut me like a knife
And then I knew
I couldnt walk away from you
cause
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
We can drive ourselves so far apart
The world gets in between
Before you know, the distance grows
Till never we lose sight of the dream
But the wonder of it all
Is how love will survive
It never fails to keep us going
It never fails to keep us alive
cause
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home
Love has a mind of its own
It moves in its own circles
And it roams where it will roam
Love has a mind of its own
It holds our lives together
Youre my heart, youre my home

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Every Poem Has A Music Of Its Own

EVERY POEM HAS A MUSIC OF ITS OWN


Every poem has a music of its own
But the music of music is beyond poetry.
It takes us to somewhere we do not really know
The Beauty it wakens in us
Strains us into a Joy
Beyond believing.

Music is the Beauty of the Soul
When the Soul knows itself nearer God
Beauty is Holy
And Music makes us so.

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Poetry Has A Rhythm Of Its Own

POETRY HAS A RHYTHM OF ITS OWN

Poetry has a rhythm of its own
I have lost it
I have words
I have sentences
But I have no rhythm-

I have flat lines
One after the blank other
A mind without depth
A sense of lack
But no real way
Of making a music of poetry

All my efforts now
Are like these lines
Without resonance
Simple and single in meaning
Not what a poem at its best
Should be.

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A Poem Has A Memory Of Its Own

A POEM HAS A MEMORY OF ITS OWN

A poem has a memory of is own
It has a music and a melody
If it sounds as it should
It will demand to be reheard.

If it is simply words
Then it will go on and on
Without beauty
Without longing
Without mystery.

A poem has a music of its own
And even when it cannot resound strongly
It needs to be heard
Again and again
If it is to be remembered
And loved.

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Mystery of Mind Poem - the mind has a mind of its own

the mind
has a mind
of its own

the mind
possesses
a life of its own

a personality
of its own

an intelligence
of its own

give it a
chance
to talk to you

be quiet

and you will
be surprised
and bewildered
at what you
could hear

the mind
it longs to
talk to you
communicate
with you

all your life

a timeless
formless,
shapeless
machine
shoved into
a sanctum
to work with
time, shape,
form and
You

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The Poem Has A Music Of Its Own

THE POEM HAS A MUSIC OF ITS OWN

The poem has a music of its own
Without the music
It is no poetry.

My music
Faltering breaking slow
Wonders where it is going
And if it really sounds
As music should sound.

Once it was more easy to feel
The melody in me real.
Now I just do not know
So many sounds
So many words
So many claims of poetry.

Music music music
Where are you?
The sound from myself
Is only 'me' now.

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If Every Time of the Day Has a Poem of Its Own

If every time of the day
Has a poem of its own
This afternoon too should long
To say something about itself-
But as it stretches its slow length too long
As it makes heat and light one long unending discomfort,
This afternoon says only
That even the time of day
Cannot mean much
If one does not have something
Outside oneself
To say in it.

All heat and light are emptiness now
And the overwhelming shape of brightness
Is nothing more than the stunned silence
One fears when one wakes from a bad dream
In the middle of the day and night.

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My Heart Has A Mind Of Its Own

(howard greenfield, jack keller)
I told this heart of mine
Our love would never be
But then I hear a voice
And something stirs inside of me
Somehow I cant resist
The memory of your kiss
I guess my heart has a mind of its own
No matter what I do
No matter what I say
No matter how I try
I just cant turn the other way
When Im with someone new
I always think of you
I guess my heart has a mind of its own
Youre not in love with me
So why cant I forget
Im just your used to be
Its wrong and yet
I know forgetting you
Would be a hopeless thing
For Im a puppet
And I just cant seem to break the strings
I say Ill let you go
But then my heart says no
I guess my heart has a mind of its own
I guess my heart has a mind of its own

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Sustenance for Friend Penny

Across the valley echoing
I hear a sound like distant drums.
It is the day of reckoning.
The storm god comes, the storm god comes.

His silver lances pierce the ground
and lightning streaks across the sky.
The thunder growls a fearsome sound.
The sun seared earth no longer dry.

The pouring rain is merciless,
the earth absorbs it thirstily
Its needs appears to be endless
The downpour stops quite suddenly.

The sun resumes his reign again.
There is no water to be seen,
it is as if there’d been no rain
but now the land is turning green.

The rain has reached the dormant seeds
Which wait in patience for their turn
the rainfall has fulfilled their needs
Now grasses and the flowers return.

The soil no longer sere and brown
but clad in multi coloured hues
of flowers which have quickly grown.
It is impossible to choose

which flower that you like the best.
Amongst the riotous display
each striving to outdo the rest
and does in fact in its own way..

Although the flowering seasons short.
The plants mature at lightning speed.
Producing seeds of every sort.
Which will survive until the day

the storm God will return again
to bless with rain the dry hard pan.
Reintroduce the flowers reign
all part of nature’s master plan.


(5-Nov-07)

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Leaf

Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve,
That you were married, or soon to be.
I have not thought of you, I believe,
Since last we parted. Let me see:
Five long Summers have passed since then –
Each has been pleasant in its own way
And you are but one of a dozen men
Who have played the suitor a Summer day.

But, nevertheless, when I heard your name,
Coupled with some one’s, not my own,
There burned in my bosom a sudden flame,
That carried me back to the day that is flown.
I was sitting again by the laughing brook,
With you at my feet, and the sky above,
And my heart was fluttering under your look –
The unmistakable look of Love.

Again your breath, like a South wind, fanned
My cheek, where the blushes came and went;
And the tender clasp of your strong, warm hand
Sudden thrills through my pulses sent.
Again you were mine by Love’s decree:
So for a moment it seemed last night,
When somebody mentioned your name to me.

Just for the moment I thought you mine –
Loving me, wooing me, as of old.
The tale remembered seemed half divine –
Though I held it lightly enough when told.
The past seemed fairer than when it was near,
As ‘blessings brighten when taking flight, ’
And just for the moment I held you near –
When somebody mentioned your name last night.

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Poetry Has Its Own Music

POETRY HAS ITS OWN MUSIC

Poetry has its own music-
A mind empty of it
Wonders where it is.

Poetry has a rhythm of its own
Without that rhythm
Dead words dead lines dead pages.

Seeking the rhythm the music of poetry
Flat lines come
And the poem is a parody
Of true poetry.

How many flat and false poems
Have I written
In order
To help me try
To come alive?

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Are My Poems Finished/ And I Finished With Them?

ARE MY POEMS FINISHED/ AND I FINISHED WITH THEM?

Are my poems finished
And I finished with them?

Each day has a beauty of its own
Light, wind, trees, colors, flowers.

All I see
The cracks in the grey pavement before me.

The cool cool wind at my back
The prayer ahead.

Even this poem is not properly finished

And I a fool racing and rushing
Through another
Again and again and again.

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Cry Missiles..........

FROM loneliness to rage,
you slip into a bluster
of moods, each one has a
flag of its own.
FROM loneliness to rage,
you howl for any one
with two arms, to hold you,
untill this sadness passes
away.
FROM loneliness to rage,
you cry missiles that
explode in your head,
and land at your feet.
AMEN.............

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From Loneliness To Rage 01

FROM loneliness to rage,
you slip into a bluster
of moods, each one has a
flag of its own.
FROM loneliness to rage,
you howl for any one
with two arms, to hold you,
untill this sadness passes
away.
FROM loneliness to rage,
you cry missiles that
explode in your head,
and land at your feet.
AMEN.............

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Peace and honor for new nation

Peace and honor should go together
It is big question to understand and bother
It involves no big or small nations
But question of deep attachment in relation

No country may want to live under shame
Popular will in this sense can’t be blamed
The tolerance has its limit and may anytime explode
At any time to attain the real freedom

Even bad rulers may be tolerated
If their steps are welfare oriented
Certain amount of misrule is also of less concern
Until it speaks of no bad intention and turn

The desert fox connived for higher ambition
It exceeded all civil norms and limitations
People could no more trust for their lives
Normal men had no means with peace to live

Country could afford no more burdens
It needed out burst with ignition all of sudden
One more fatal blow and nation was to be restored
To its full glory of past and honored

Finally it has seen the golden day
Peace has finally descended in its own way
Country has witnessed enough of bad blood
There is shortage of medicines, commodities and food

Libyan people are brave and blessed with natural wealth
There is enough to eat and manage for good health
If people are happy and remain united
It is befitting occasion to feel as librated

Any nation may feel proud with its ancient heritage
Only rulers take note of it and ably manage
Whether system is democratic or with semi pattern
It must be happily shared by all without any concern

We all must wish this young nation a prosperous start
Live in harmony with neighbors and never depart
From stated position of non-interference and neutrality
That shall certainly grant peaceful atmosphere with stability

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When I Lost Myself

There are those who are forever searching and
After many decades have passed lose themselves to another world-
Although with much certainty and disillusionment
I can hardly remember living much of a life in
This world where people walk with confidence and self-assurance everyday-
Memories of nights as a child so young
Hearing voices others did not hear and
Seeing frightening sights others did not see-
Feeling alone although in the midst of myriads of others, afraid to speak,
Fearful to walk the streets others took for granted-
I was only six years old when voices threatened to kill
Would invade my already troubled mind and
I found myself an outcast for reasons I hardly understood-
The purple tree with golden flowers that grew inside of my bedroom-
As strikingly stunning as it was,
I fell to the floor when I tried to climb,
Because it only existed in the fortress of my mind-
My journey to find myself began when I learned to walk-
I learned to scream before I learned to speak-
Decades have passed and memories are evading me-
Walking the same path day by day-
While others are looking for a place in a world I feel I am not a part of,
My journey to find myself continues-
I walk upon a different path and have climbed many mountains
Seeking purple trees and my own garden of Eden-
Or merely for others that would accept and just remotely understand
The person I am and the world I have lost myself to-
Although my spirit at times evades me,
In the back of my mind I know in reality there must be a place for me and
Although at times my only wish is to climb that phantasmal purple tree
Until I reach the sky and disappear within only a moment’s notice
I will not give up the fight- I was born into this world so there must be a place for me-
Many decades have passed and today I see the sunlight peering through the clouds,
Though an outcast, I have a heart, a mind and feelings as does everybody else-
I continue to walk the streets everyday and my visions of purple trees, and
My dogged determination are what makes me unique- and someday people shall
Respect the person that I am and understand that flowers grow on every tree and
Every flower is unique, has its own special scent and every flower is
In its own way- magnificent and beautiful…

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Lady Anne

I

Dear lady Anne
I had you once
and then had you lost
as if you were never meant to be
only mine.

II

Sweet lady Anne
how you could
make your lips glow
and bind your auburn hair
at times in a bow.

III

And, lady Anne
who else could make sparks jump
between the two of us
and knew me better
than I myself.

IV

When, lady Anne
your lips met mine
they were much sweeter than wine
and passion raged for much more
but life swept you away
sweet lady Anne.

V

Ay, lady Anne
how swift has life passed us bye
and years is spent
and time just went on its own way
and you were a fine wife
to someone else,

VI

but lady Anne
the things that lie between
the two of us
remains as long
as our lives last.

VII

Dear lady Anne
my heart still in a way
belongs to you
and at times I dream about
days long gone
and I wonder if you
remember me too?

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Everything's Beautful (In Its Own Way) (feat. Willie Nelson)

(Dolly Parton)
When I look out over a green field of clover
Or watch the sun set at the end of the day
I get kind of moody when I see such beauty
And everything's beautiful in its own way
When I see a fountain flow from a mountain
Or see April showers bring flowers to May
I can't help but ponder; life is such a wonder
And everything's beautiful in its own way
Words can't describe what I feel inside
When I see the beauty in each coming day
What my eyes behold can't be bought or sold
And everything's beautiful in its own way
When I see the clouds form a black summer windstorm
That uproots the harvest and hurls it away
In the midst of such anger, destruction and danger
The storm's even beautiful in its own way
When I see leaves drop off from the treetop
Or see the snow fall on a cold winter's day
My thoughts seem to wander into the blue yonder
God made all things beautiful in their own way
Words can't describe what I feel inside
When I see the beauty in each coming day
What my eyes behold can't be bought or sold
And everything's beautiful in its own way, in its own way, in its own way

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All Living Things

The sea…a living sentient thing
As is the Earth…an organism alive

For who’s to say that oceans don’t think
And that planets don’t strive to survive

That trees and leaves have no feelings
And rocks…no emotions

That waves could’na be the heartbeat and
The pulse of vibrant oceans

That canyons be not wrinkles
That mountains are not just features

That constellations…and galaxies
Not simply grand cosmic creatures

That lakes are not eyes
Valleys not ears

Volcanoes not simply pimples
Nor the rain…Terra’s tears

As atoms…to universes
Meteor storms…to hail

The only true difference is…
A slight matter… of scale

Only the out-sized ego of…
man can stubbornly deny

Only stifled imaginations
Sterile, dusty and dry

Only minds conditioned
to not even strive…fail

To acknowledge that all and everything
That exists…is in it’s own way, alive

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