Random Allegory Poems (898)

The thought of meeting you
Keeps me up at night

All those poems you wrote
Sunk deep in my soul

I've stirred a course through
Loves sea

And you've been the wind in
My sails

So sad that my hands cannot
Cup your cheek

I send you my tears in a golden
Bottle

I tear my flesh for love unfulfilled

May destiny have compassion on
the desires of my hungry heart

May my eyes close on this dark
And lonely world

May I wake to find you hand and
Hand walking through streets of
Gold

Only then shall we walk in the
Eternal smile

When people lie to you, do you think they know?

Is it intentional, this
spiral they put you through like ropes on a pulley, strips of cloth
spinning round the washing machine
as a child
painted to the brim
pokes gleefully at the bended glass?

Laughter bubbled away
into silence; airtight inside.
White linen stretches and snares
in the spokes, ripped
edges frayed.
Plaid summer dress flops over
tiny knees balanced on doll toes,
a chubby arm swaying
in slow motion, pointing,
red paint on the tip
of her nose, scrunched eyes
glisten under a dripping shank of
summer -
blond hair.

Ever wonder what it would be like,
To hike,
The Appalachian Trail in late Autumn?
To sail the Seven Seas?
To travel through time?
To do whatever we please?

Temptation,
Yea desire,
To roam far from home,
To see the Wonders of the World,
To conquer all our fears,
Hit the bullseye every time,
To joyously fulfill all our years,

But wait,
Don't go.

Stay.

Being, existing, living
all that entails
a cloud exists
as it floats by

Until it burns up
in the sun's rays
rain falling softly
sustaining life

Moon gives her own
by nightlight
secretive creatures
do exist in her light

Being is, to experience
all life has to offer
so many wondrous things
We Exist, We Are, We Live and Enjoy

I feel like a person engulfed in a bog
With no inclination to take myself off.
The bog is alluring, drawing me down,
In ruthless persistence I'm bearing down.

No one can arrive for the rescue of me,
I am the one who could get out and flee,
I am the one who could get myself clean
Out of this mire, should I have such scheme.

No such scheme, I prefer facing risk,
I know there is nothing to hold me adrift.
The bog will entice me in perilous grip,
I'm falling a victim of dangerous whim.

My love is enticing and bearing me down,
I've fallen its victim, I'll never get out.
I'll stay stupefied and forgetful of mind,
I'd rather I perished, if that is my price.

you can acting like a clown in this world but one day your mask will go down under and then you see yourself whit a empty face the world sit full whit clowns like you

TO WALK AUNT KATHY'S GARDEN,
THERE'S NOTHING TO COMPARE,
THE LOVE AND ATTENTION,
IT SHOWS UP EVERYWHERE.

LARGE LILACS, LITTLE BLUEBELLS,
WAFT ON SCENTED BREEZE,
AS IF TO SAY, COME OVER HERE,
AND TAKE A LOOK AT ME.

HER PATIENT HANDS HAVE TENDED,
FLOWER BED, AND GARDEN POTS,
ABUNDANT FLOWERS WITHIN THEM,
SEEM TO SAY, SHE LOVES US LOTS.

ALWAYS IN THE GARDEN,
ON A FINE DAY SHE WILL BE,
TYING UP ROSE BUSHES,
TENDING FLOWERS ON BENDED KNEE.

SHE PATS THEM WITH AFFECTION,
AS SHE CALLS THERE NAME TO ME,
AND KNOWS WHEN EACH WILL BLOSSOM,
BE IT SHRUB, OR LILAC TREE.

I SOMETIMES COME TO HELP HER,
AMIDST THE SCENTED POT POURRI,
AND HER EYES THEY FILL WITH GLADNESS,
WHEN WITH HER FLOWERS, SHE GOES TO BE.


BEN999

I sit here on my steadfast horse
While the moon begins its nightly course
I'm riding nightherd, so I guess there's time
To reflect upon this life of mine.

My right leg is crooked over the saddle horn
As I wait for signs of the imminent morn'
It's not hard for a cowgirl's thoughts to dwell
Upon her Creator, and the Lord's words as well.

The wind carries the sound through the night air
Of the grazing remuda and the belled mare
My horse would like to join them, I can imagine
And I wish to be sleeping, like the others, by the wagon.

But, instead, I'm here, and wondering how
Any one who's ever worked with a cow
Could disbelieve that there is a God
Who put us upon this wonderful sod.

Isn't it amazing how an old mama cow
Will go off by herself, away from the crowd
And for the most part, calve out, without hardly coughing
Though we take it for granted, we see it so often.

What about those geese I saw fly by today?
Who tells them to fly southward, and which is the right way?
My horse's winter coat, now there's a strange thing,
Who tells him to shed it as winter turns to spring?

A cowboy might think and eclipse is a mystery
Though we've seen them any times through posterity
Ain't it something how the sun and moon have chartered courses?
How a mighty river springs from the smallest mountain sources?

This manger scene before me reminds me of my Savior's birth
And God had given His only Son to die for all of earth
I may never understand it all, I can only believe
Just as I'll never quite savvy how a spider learns to weave.

My horse stomps his forefoot, and chomps at the bit
Our job tonight is over and I'm glad of it
I believe there is a God, if my opinion you would count
And I hope you will pardon...this sermon on my mount.

When fear taps on your shoulder, man-
don't turn around, because it can
and will get straight into your heart
to take you for a ride. The part
it's mostly interested in (your will)
it wants to grab and squeeze and chill-
to stop you in your tracks, my friend,
and while you're standing at the bend
unable for to move aside
your fear will take you for a ride
to places full of ghosts and such
were it can haunt you and do much
to sap away your soul and reap
what you have planted, while the heap
it leaves you in is worthless. Man-
just leave the bugger while you can...

I spent monday
just walking through town
searching for solace
but none could be found

the wind whistled arias
clarity true
I dreamt of a vessel..
she turned into you

my eyes coarse from labours
blinking through mists
a tangle of conflicts
my hands sleeping fists

I spent tuesday morning
down at the yard
searching for magic
for some fated card

it's then that I saw you
pitched in the muck
neglected by everyone's
concept of luck

I spent all of wednesday
smoothing the deck
washing salt tears
from the grooves
of your neck

I ate in your wheelhouse
I slept in your aft
people that knew me
considered me daft

I watched thursday morning
select it's new hue
it mirrored your essence
but only I knew

the grief of good friday
rose with the tide
that day in the chapel
when you were my bride

so I bury my rage
in the virtue of toil
in the place
where you float
'tween the sea and the soil


(for Vanessa)