Broken Fences

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June  Pariah
 I  think  not,     she  said, and
saw his shoulders     sag as his face
fell. Then  he  turned,    and with his
chin to his chest,    pulled his hat low
to hide his tears     in the rain that
fell  with  his     heart,  into  the
little  black     velvet  box,
now  laying      heavy
in his    breast




Punker Doo's a didley squat who sits upon a hill.
If you should happen by you'll see he really is a pill.
He picks sunflower petals off and counts them one by one,
then puts them in his silly hat and calls them little suns.
Punker Doo's a didley squat not worthy of enjoying.
He only speaks in nonsense words, which is quite annoying.

Punker Doo's a didley squat who sits upon a hill.
I chanced to happen by one day and heard his silly trill.
The words he sang were out of synch, non-sensical in rhyme.
The sharps were flat, the flats were stretched succinctly out of time.
Punker Doo's a didley squat and to us is quite annoying,
but I am sure his trilling nonsense noise, he's quite enjoying!


Ride The Wind
A gentle wisp to kiss the dew
from tender buds,and dancing through
the early morning springtime mist
leaving a path where they've been kissed

A quiet song, to softly sigh
all through the pines, a lullaby
and sing the restless Babe to sleep
before he stirs and starts to weep

A soft caress on golden grain
to roll in waves across the plain
and fingers stretch through Summer sky
to sculpt the clouds as they go by

A brisk uplifting breath of air
that gently combs through tangled hair
and moves the part from left to right
creating quite a silly sight

A sweeping gust, to scatter leaves
to dance upon an Autumn breeze
and send them spinning down a street
to gather deep, where you can't reach

A steady blow, to billow sails
and carry ships before a gale
to ride the seas upon the tide
and anchor safe at harborside

A stinging, icy, biting scream
racing across a frozen stream
and flying over hills and trees
leading an early winter freeze



one simple word
it says so much
can bare our souls
betray our trust
dashing hopes
destroying dreams
one such look
can rend our seams
and spill a heart
onto the sands
of time seeping
in second hands
of silence......

Pour out my soul
weep til the end
for only tears
can make amends
Pour deep into
this empty well
and fill it til
the tide does swell
to wash away
the pains of guilt
the aches of fears
this soul has felt
Pour out my soul
weeping amends
til only tears
need find an end.

Misconceptions Pain

I find it hard to read this note
as large a lump grows in my throat
alone I lie here in my bed
as scrambled thoughts dizzy my head
just finding the right words to say
discovering no simple way
I stumble, blunder, blubber, bawl
as you stand waiting in the hall
just simple words I must recite
to say won't you please, stay the night

When I'm No More A Miss
With rich green valleys
and snow covered mountains
With wild raging rivers
and calm falls and fountains
With a herd of wild horses
in the valleys, running free
With large fields of poppies
and multicolored trees
With birds in the air
and squirrels on the ground
With foxes running
from hunters and hounds
With a large house on a hilltop
and acres of land like this
Is the kind of home I'd like
When I'm no more a Miss

Dear Daddy
How are you today
Did you take your Lady
on that cold foray
Running 'round a diamond
was not her thoughts of fun
for watching all those men be boys
she'd rather see their buns
But, how ARE you Dear Daddy
alone there in that box.
It must give you quite a chill
to know she was a fox.
She slyly rent your heart out
and served it on a platter.
All the time still asking you
what ever is the matter
Once I tried to warn you.
Twice you turned away.
Three strikes you're out
now won't you shout
and scare that
witch away!

As she drew the tambourine
in the circle of her arms
The golden bracelets on each wrist
flashed firelight with her charms
Her movements slow and sensual
as gracefully she spins
Her ruby lips shine with the heat
Her sultry smile begins
Slowly the beat draws closer
as Fiddlers bow meets string
When stardust cast to embers heat
the Knight begins to sing
A subtle shake sent shivers
flames flaring high entranced
And sprays of sparks ensued the beat
as the Gypsy Woman danced
More quickly played the fiddle
her steps in perfect tune
wide swung her skirts, bared to her knees
the Knight now wont to swoon
The Knight stood tall, bedazzled
silent his voice took wing
as softly pouting ruby lips
behest to hear him sing
His song accosts her heartbeat
as she watches him through the fire
in the velvet rise of her breasts soft glow
his eyes fill with desire
Her tambourine now silent
the violin softly plays
and gently swaying to the sound
to the Knight her love conveys

A fall has put me in this mood
afraid to talk, afraid to move
Each breath a test of thresholds reign
to gasp, and cry, through threads of pain
My broken flesh prevents the draw
of words to fall, smooth, from my jaw
My ribs protest in twists of fate
the box I tripped on seen too late
My knees spent hard, upon the floor
my head thrown fast, into the door
It is that fate has gone amiss
I am too old to be like this
In all my splendid, lithic, grace
I did but fall flat on my face!

Tears I Shed
I cried the other day
in mourning of my years.
I read some poems
my daughter had composed.
I realized her poetry 
was more real than mine,
and the floodgate of my soul, 
it overflowed.
A tear shed for her openness, 
her honesty.
Another for her
youthfulness in love.
And much more for the wisdom
in each thought expressed.
A flood for all the
longing that I saw.
She had written all my dreams, 
all my fantasies,
there upon each line
for me to see.
I was reading of the life
I once had wanted to live.
So I cried, for I could see
her living me.

High or low
away he goes
influenced not
for wont
be pained
in this circle
of scrambled
approached not
for sanity
be wont

A Limerick
There once was a poetical writer
Who interlaced all his odes like a spider
So for all those who read
Would get caught in the thread
with this nonsense and humor inciter! 
Who am I?
I have tread on your thread very often
And I manage to sidestep your pens
I'm the sheen in the silk that you're weaving
I interpret the why and the when
If you look very quick you might see me
In the blink of an eye I am gone
It takes wit and wry precognition
Where wool covers more than silk spun
Who am I?

In-Verse Perspective
Simplistic ideals
of an adolescent poet
traverse time
to 'lite upon the diatribe
of a middle aged lyricist
and reveal childlike wonders
of life renewed in verse.
Complex goals
of a middle aged poet
traverse time
to 'lite upon the dreams
of an adolescent lyricist
and reveal maturing daydreams
of life once lived in verse.

...and tears flow freely from the mind
when faced with words of like or kind.
An outlet which the heart must seek
when faced with words so bittersweet.
A path to guide the rivers flow
when faced with words you would not know.
What thought provoking souls must seek
when faced with words that make you weep.
...and tears flow freely from the mind
when faced with words could this be mine.

Round and round in circles she goes,
riding to where nobody knows.
Up on a cloud or under a tree,
so bright and happy-go-lucky is she.
A giggle, a song, so often to hear,
she's off on a lark, then suddenly near.
She comes and she goes more quickly than light,
she wakes late each morning and sleeps late each night.
Constantly brushing her hair in a swirl,
carefully tending each non-existent curl.
Sitting so silently, somberly free,
mesmerized while watching TV.
Sparkling green eyes and sheepish grin,
they grip your heart so anger can't win.



Punker Doo's a didley squat who sits upon a hill,
influenced by the test of time he has the day to fill.  

Unable to distinguish work from play he'll go have fun,

hoping you'll chance to happen by and do what he's not done.
Punker Doo's a didley squat and there's nothing more annoying,
than knowing of what he does not, and not of where he's going.

Punker Doo’s a didley squat who sits upon a hill,
like a glutton on Thanksgiving, whose eaten all his fill.
If you should happen by you'd think that he was just a log,
and if a snore he should emit you'd think it just a frog.
Punker Doo's a didley squat who's endlessly deploying
his responsibilities to those with whom he's toying.



A frightening, pushing, angry roar
rattling windows, burst through doors
uprooting mighty oaks from earth
dismantling life in reckless mirth

A sudden lift for feathered wings
skipping through chimes to make them sing
or ride the waves in ecstasy
across the vast and endless sea

A soothing touch on sweated brow
cooling the place where thoughts somehow
become inspired from within
to merge into, and ride the wind




It seems I have been given voice tonight
tho' sadness seems the voice revealed in sight
A song of mournful choice this voice has sung
released this heart from on the sadness hung
Set free this soul and give it Angels wings
so it may soar and sing of better things


My other self
is very wise
mostly silent
sometimes rise
to meet the ghost
of sad recall
before I plummet
before I fall
at other times
'tis hidden there
in plain view

Speak Out

Speak out dear loved one
voice boldly Thee mind.
Hold not Thy tongue
Thou hast words could be mine!

'er not will I know
Thou hast feelings of heart,
if ne'er from thy lips
Thy words should depart.

My guess, but conjecture
influenced afore tell,
e'er Thy actions lay silent
if ne'er accounted well!

Thy wisdom lay hidden
e'er 'neath truth and fear
I ne'er may acknowledge
lest Thy words seek my ear

Time Puppets
They dangle on strings
of anticipation,
increasing every minute.
And dance away in procrastination,
stretching to their limit.
When choosing paths
they often borrow
stolen moments
for yesterday,
from tomorrow.
Sunsets closing
time escapes them,
darkness hides its flight.
Soon revealed
as sunrise lifts them
on gossamer threads of light
Propelling them from their beds,

Another has gone, so many this year
Always I would plan that someday to visit
But the distance brings diversion
and the someday reach is further away.
Regrets flow for the someday
that may never now come.
Gone on to a better place.
If only I could gather all those somedays together
and bestow upon all those gone
the "I Love You's" in my heart.
Now they all wait for the time
that never comes
to greet me with open arms
on my someday.

I Was There

I was there to hold them
where no other arms could reach
I was there to stroke them
when their little hearts did breach
I was there to keep from them
what they cried for from their souls
I was there to tell them
why they must be bold
I was there to see them
when grief etched on each face
I was there to love them
who would take my place

        Pianistic Prose
        Supple fingers
     tripping lightly over
 ivory, black and pale, across
   the keys, to strike accord
     within the boundaries
        of the soul of
        Felted hammers
    tapping rhythmically over
 wires, tautly stretched across
    the board, to echo accord
      within the boundaries
        of the sound of
      Tittupping vibrations
   ebb and flow in waves over
  wood, resonating wide across
   the orifice,to sing accord
     within the boundaries
        of the song of
        Gregarious tones
       subtly dancing over
 currents, swirling softly across
    the room, to spread accord
      within the boundaries
         of the spirit of

Of Ants & Man
We see it now crawling in and out
over and under, around and through
Feelers out, always searching
no obstacle too great to climb
no opening too small to forge
Always forward never stopping
following an invisible road
Up and down we see it crawling
Always onward, life is forging
over troubles, around and through
Thoughts out, always searching
no problem too great to overcome
no challenge too small to try
Always forward, never stopping
following an invisible road
Up and down we sense His guiding

To Ride A Mock Horse
Darling Baby, so happy and gay,
you're all a bundle of joy today.
Now content to ride my knee,
soon you'll want to be set free.
With your brothers you will run,
to romp and play out in the sun.
You'll learn to swing and climb a tree,
many a scrape and bump I'll see.
When other tease and make you cry,
I'll sing to you a lullaby,
and rock you gently on my knee,
before you beg to be set free.
Then as you grow I'll watch with pride,
as you walk at your sisters side,
and off to school you both will go.
Oh, how I will miss you so!
When school days pass and college too,
there still will be a place for you,
to rest your head upon my knee,
and reminisce of days so free

The Advisory Committee
.....Too many sort it all out
want to go..stay...go...oh Heck!!!!!
it wasn't there anyway...wasted time
can't exist in...
essences of
loss.........tears... falling..gathering
NO MORE!!!!!!!!!
full of dreams
and too many voices

Another In-Verse Perspective
In illusions of time
I find what is mine
is but a cluttering of
objective thoughts
to while away
this time of
of this time
to while away
objective thoughts
is but a cluttering of
what I find is mine
of time in illusions

When I Grow Up
...and find pennies on the ground
I'll pick them up and save them
for a rainy day
I'll not throw them away
like some children lost in life
not meant for them
a cardboard box or city street
for a bed
a dumster for a table
a moonless night for theft
and scrounging
a sewer maze to hide the loot
from a hapless night
I'll not throw them away
I'll pick them up from the ground
and give them the pennies
I've saved for a rainy day....

This Is Me!