�As you can see, I'm not all that imaginative when it comes to titles... heh heh...�
Questions
Who knows where the sky ends
Who knows when time has gone,
Who knows where the wind blows,
Who knows where stars, like suns,
Where does the hurt child go
Where does a foe meet foe
Who knows where eternity lies
Who can find the brazen key
Im'ij Rhee
I've watched the winds blow.
Waiting; to find that secret asylum
If You Fall
Hold and Bind
The Dandelion
Whisper your secrets to each little seedling,
Then blow them away, the white little snowflakes;
And there the remnants of secrets will flourish
Art
The movement of an artist's hand
The brush moves at the precise moment
With a flip of a wrist and a squint of an eye
For the source of art is in all of us,
Places
I travel to different lands
Paradise
Beaches with golden sand,
Seasons
The Seasons pass and go,
I was in a rather inquiring mood when I wrote this one... and perhaps feeling a lil bit melancholy...
or where the night touches the day?
Where broken wings go to mend;
where the poet learns his say?
or when our future flees?
Who knows of the good deeds done
which no one seems to see?
fading to a whisper lost?
Or where the closing of the rose
is more than gold in cost?
shine their shining light?
Or where the silvery moons
glimmer in the velvety night?
to cry crystal tears of pain?
Do sire and dam know
that childhood must soon wane?
and come away as friends?
Where do lovers cry their woe
when true love comes to an end?
or where the secrets creep?
Who knows if infinity dies
or where the forevers keep?
of the lost locked door upstairs?
Whose answers can pacify me?
A voice murmurs, "No one dares."
For this one... let's just say I had one too many cherries the night that I scribbled this one down... I think... heh heh...
I've seen the toppled temples
Of forgotten goddesses.
And as the fey air and faeries
dance among the crippled altars,
'round pock-marked mortars which once held up
a Majesty now lost and gone forever,
I watch, and wonder-----and wait.
hidden, buried, flown far away.
The mysterious isle glimpsed only in dreams;
the blurred image seen at the edge of the eye;
the land which the child seeks unknowingly.
The place where only half-felt and half-remembered
breezes and goddesses go.
To understand this poem is to know a lil bit about me. I'd been an only child for 11 years and had been yearning for a younger sibling (or any sibling for that matter), and then, after a decade and a year, my lil brother was born. He doesn't know it yet, but I wrote this poem for him. If you fall, I will catch you.
When the world seems so gray;
And turning blacker by the day;
Soon your hopeless tears fill the bay;
Do not fret what to do.
If you fall, I will catch you.
If you stumble, you will be steadied.
Should a step be accidentally missed;
Overlooked the important list;
And a folly wrong must insist;
Be you strong and be you readied.
If you stumble you will be steadied.
If you kneel to surrender, I will help you stand.
Should the dark pull you down;
The smiles hidden by a frown;
And the bad teases like a clown;
Do not drop exhausted to the land.
If you kneel to surrender, I will help you stand.
If your life seems dwindled, I will spark a flame.
When nothing seems just right;
There was something lost in the last fight;
The tunnel so long and so weak the light;
Even though everything looks dire and lame;
If you life seems dwindled, I will spark a flame.
I'm not exactly sure where this poem came from... I guess I was feeling a bit dreamy and romantic... so you can either blame my muse, or those fairy tale love stories with the lil "happily ever afters" that I always seemed to fall for... Many have tried and many have failed;
The small simple task which few prevail.
How can one accomplish such a feat?
Rare to win and hard to beat?
A rose is always to be a flower;
Rain comes in storms or showers.
Yet many cannot understand;
And not rarely, they demand.
Or ignore, a usual choice;
But in refusing, they haven't a voice.
Several wish while all will crave,
A thing believed stolen by a cruel knave;
Whom, in deciding, we were not worth,
Every and any of all; of course.
Scarce is it for one to find
The obscure object which holds and binds.
The fact is that it is as free as a dove,
The wonderful and frightening feeling we call love.
This is probably one of my favorite poems that is actually mine . This one is meant for musing, and to be recited in a soft and slow and deliberate tone, perhap building up a little at the beginning of the second and third stanzas... Well. At least, that's how I read it. But the part of poetry that's fun and interesting includes that of personal interpretation. I hope you enjoy :)
Whisper them softly and whisper them clear.
Tell your desires, your dreaming, your fancies-----
Give up your alibis; the passions so dear.
Blow them away to places uknown.
There they will fly-----foundering, sinking,
Rooting and reaching 'til at last they are grown.
From Shadows of minds to brightest of stars-----
Only the breezes can hear the half-murmurs
Of lost loves and hard hates; of short peace ad longs wars.
This is among my first attempts at "serious" poetry... You can still hear the kid in me in this one :)
Creates the most beautiful things.
A scene of a flowing land,
A bird which thrills and sings.
Making messes of paint and oil
Yet emerges is the ground cement
Which the artist shall then toil.
The artist will produce a picture.
Never are they restrained or shy,
And unheeded goes the lecture.
Indeed, we may be the masterpieces.
Yet, there is no need to fuss,
We still have our crimps and creases.
Again, another early attempt at "serious" poetry. This one ties in another element of my interests-----reading! :)
Which are passed from hand to hand.
I learn many strange and wonderful things
Beasts and birds which take to wing.
I walk with the heroes and the foes,
Evil beings who bring themselves woe.
Many magical happenings
Can change a person into a princeling.
I meet magicians and sorcerers alike
Who are either black or white.
I see the future and past times
With computers and gold mines.
I live various lives
As there are bees in hives.
Can you believe?
I can hardly conceive.
These marvelous places
Are cramped in the smallest spaces.
You may give me strange looks,
Yet I tell you, they are in books.
This one... I was attempting to sound jaded and oh so worldly knowledgable... I think I fell short a couple feet or so...
The forests of wild lands,
Are here in the unknowing places
Where strangers become familiar faces.
The ocean is a clear blue,
The sunset an orange hue.
Breezes are fresh and tranquil,
The birds' sweet singing are never still.
This is indeed Paradise
Unhindered by the human lies.
Alright... as far as I can trace back, this would be THE first poem I ever wrote. I mean, a poem that had a twang of coherency to it. (If it doesn't-----then darned it! ;)
First is the winter's snow.
Then winter yields to spring's young bloom,
Sunshine welcomes summer's moon.
Thus, the leaves become yellow and red
For autumn and fall lies ahead.
Still time is traveling far,
Never to stop
Either to the Seasons par,
Nor their faltering hops.