Mind Wandering

This is just a little of mind flow. I felt like writing and let the moment carry me through what ever paths my mind decided to wind. So this is the result of mind wandering i guess (lol), so anyway hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

We are like pages in a book,
Each one page different and unique,
Yet the same, making up the whole story,
And everyone else as readers,
Taking a momentary glimpse of us,
Grease smudged, they handle the pages,
Leaving behind their own trace of interest,
The marks saying,
"I have stopped to see and think upon",
We change and yet are the same,
These pages falling loose,
From wear and tear by ourselves & others,
Neatly fall back in place,
If time is taken to arrange,
And the peace of us sitting on the shelves,
A little dusty but there we sit for a reason,
Something was worthwhile to keep this,
Something was special enough for someone else,
But a book is a book, and we are us,
And shall be nothing more until we pause to grasp,
And silently gaze through the looking glass.

Covered Windows

(This is an older poem of mine but one I still love)

The Windows are covered with curtains-

And blankets. I cannot look out on the street.

No sunlight reaches this hole-

My quiet home



These stairs creak with every step-

One foot forward, the other-

Following next. But when backwards is

Forwards and Forwards back; its hard

To foresee what will come next

Tonight

Tonight, these words I write for you,
For the evening has grown late, and all but I dream,
In between these dancing diamonds,
Upon a black satin sheet, I see you face,

Tonight, the glittering Ice and falling flakes,
Remind me of your eyes, glossed by candle light,
And at this lonely hour, awake,
I wonder, could I have loved you?

Tonight, I write of what I once new
Now, in winter, have forgotten the feeling of spring,
Did I love you? Perhaps not,
But then, I must have loved you,

Tonight the pale scene of the streets,
Give me pauses to dwell,
And smile, warming like a hot drink,
Then, cruelly returned by the sound of passing cars,

Tonight I will write for you,
The sun long set, awaiting the coming rise,
My memories, wafting like strawberry scent on the wind,
And you, lay somewhere asleep, warm, and in my dreams,
Happy,

Tonight I will have said nothing,
For someone else now holds your heart,
Hoping he can love you, as I should have,
Love you as I couldn’t, love you as I wouldn’t,

Tonight you are gone, like the day before,
I thought my dream would never end,
But like all dreams, I must awake,
Realizing I had overslept, far too late.

My Movie

Now after my death,
After Life, After loving
Growing and strife.
JFK sits in his directors
Chair, making my movie.
And as lead role, Jim,
Nearby curiously sits the
Love interest, in some
Metaphorical form, a
Virgin Catholic. The score
Often appears disjointed,
Erratic, and lost. It's some
Psychedelic tune lost in an
Everglade. At the opening
Preview they file in;
John Adams, Spinoza, MLK,
Mr. Dean, a few forgotten movie
Stars, and some poets in between.
Here there are no nationalists,
No politicians, racists, skeptics,
Or lonely lost men. In fact there
Are no men at all, nor any women.
Just you and me with light flooding
The T.V. screen. Watching this
Movie alive, yet maybe a little dead,
And somehow I know how it's
Going to end. With a flash of smoke,
red, and tears cried, but not for me.
For you, yes you; the one watching
The screen with pale blue eyes.

Brook Farm

Here we stand at Brook Farm,
Within and without,
A deep blue sky in reflective placidity,
With green, wavy green, edging along Walden,
Like a soul, in a sequestered home.

And my noble friends,
Standing on the giants' shoulders,
Seeing far, far, far, to a distant horizon,
To that which too few have glimpsed,
That mystic shaman's vision,
Disobedience of the patriots lips.

O my insanity has outgrown my genius,
Has this lantern been here all night?
Casting shadows and light,
Over this perplexing dyslectic sight.

No roads can connect our fleeting lives
Books burnt in our young man's mind
Its their fault I say, Its their fault I say!
As well as yours and mine,
This sinister web of enchanted fright.

What is a dollar in your wallet,
Compared to a man's life?
What is living,
Without both suffering and delight?

So here on Brook Farm,
I embrace my last friends.
Here on Brook Farm,
I embrace the end of my own.
Here on Brook Farm,
I found the diamonds lost in sand.

Now the lions are coming,
And the Queen won't wait,
First foot forward,
Through the open gate.