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I thought I would post some poetry I wrote a while back, like in the past few years. Please don't take it, or at least tell me first...
The World Through Different Eyes
March 2001
If only dreams were reality,
Then maybe one day I could see,
The world through different eyes.
Hope would live on,
Hearts would soar like birds;
Love would pour forth like a flowing fountain;
The world through different eyes.
The humming bees would forever be at peace.
The staggering sun would shine forever.
The bubbling brook would forever flow;
The world through different eyes.
With the ticking clock stopped,
The silent years would not whiz by;
We could stay forever young;
The world through different eyes.
God’s tears would never fall;
The burning winter never come;
Exploding flowers the only violence;
The world through different eyes.
Yet in my dreamworld,
You yourself would be there.
And after all this time, you could finally love me;
The world through a dreamer’s eyes.
Tell Me Lies
January, 2001
Tell me lies
For I fear the truth
Tell me you love me
For I love you too
Tell me lies
Be with me always
Don’t make me go
Ask me to stay
Tell me lies
I am yours forever
Say you need me
That you’ll leave me never
Tell me lies
Say I’m in your dreams
Stay here beside me
And never leave
I fear the truth
And without you I die
So please for the moment
Tell me lies
To Be Loved By You
One kiss
One more
Still another
To be held
By your warm strong arms
Is to know
The most and purest happiness
In the world over
To gaze into your loving eyes
Is to look upon the gates of heaven
For both alike are bathed in a warm golden light
To hear you speak
Is to hear millions of heavenly instruments
All finely tuned into a single triumphant solo
To touch you
Is to be blessed by so many thousands of angels
And finally to love you
Is to love and be honored by
Being held in your arms
To gaze into your eyes
To hear you whisper “I love you,” in my ear
To touch and caress you
This is what it is
To be loved by you
What I Wouldn’t Give
April, 2000
What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again.
To climb a tree, for no other reason than just to climb it, to the highest bough, and not worry about falling.
To build a tree-house in that same tree, even if it is really just a few slats of graying wood nailed to a tree with ancient, rusty nails
To be fearless enough to poke the tiny snake with a stick, while it slithers away into the bushes, and to offer the stray cat some food from the palm of my hand and not worry about disease.
To think that imagination is the greatest thing ever invented. It can be used to fight off the enemy aliens, or to dream of far away lands in which pigs fly, animals talk, and where the sun always shines.
To wear a homemade paper hat and sit in a cardboard box, and be fighting a sea battle with pirates, and to win and become the master of the seven seas.
To sit in the shade of a huge oak tree, and look to the passing clouds and make them into shapes – a fire engine, a tree, a cat, a wagon, a unicorn, a pirate ship – on a warm, breezy summer day.
To be hunting for tigers in the wild African jungles, even if you are really just looking for your lost cat in the park.
To go out and play in the rain, loving the feeling of the water running down from your head to your toe, and then to jump and splash in the puddles after the rain fades into a beautiful sunny day.
To pick a bunch of dandelions, so pretty in a field of green, to give to mother for her birthday, but stopping before you go to pick the flower with all the fuzzy white balls on it, and twirl around and scatter them into the wind, never to be seen again.
To feel that tinge of excitement when that darn tooth finally falls out, leaving behind a small reminder that, maybe an apple a day only pulls out your poor teeth, and then just barely missing, because you fell asleep, the tooth fairy’s arrival, bringing you something that makes the pain worth it.
To go down to the lake and sit at the end of the dock, fishing with only a wooden stick with a string tied to it and maybe perhaps some old bread for bait, dangling your bare feet into the chilly water, but loving the feel of the water sloshing between your toes.
To try to stay up all night long, clutching the flashlight as if perhaps if you let it go, you’ll surely fall into a giant abyss, waiting for any moment, the monster to jump out of the closet and carry you to closetland.
To rub your cheeks gently, which are still red and burning, after Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Leonard ambushed you at the family barbecue on the patio, exclaiming how long it’s been since they’ve seen you, and oh how you’ve grown, growing like a weed!
To feel the wind blowing through your hair as you take that first wild ride on your very own bicycle, going faster and faster until you realize that you don’t know how to stop, and topple over into the bushes, crying from the scrape on your knee, yet laughing at the excitement.
To pack up your necessities—teddy-bear, favorite shirt, which has been worn a million and one times, some clean underwear, as mother always said, the picture of your parents from their bedside table, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—and run away from home, because your mom told you to clean your room, but you’re forced to go back when you get to the end of the block, not only because you already miss everyone terribly, but because you just remembered-you’re not allowed to cross the street.
To wake up on Christmas morning, see the sun streaming in through the window, and running down the stairs to the living room, and before you even see the star of the brilliantly lit and decorated tree, stopping to take a moment on the last stair to say a quiet, but heartfelt, thank you to the big man in red for all that you are about to discover under the tower of evergreen, blinking lights, and ornaments from the year 1982, then tearing through the brilliantly colored paper-wrapped gifts, whether they’re yours or not, until you find the one you’re looking for, the one that you’ve wanted since July.
To wonder if the fruit in the basket on the table is real, or wax. After all, you wouldn’t want to make that mistake again.
To believe that anything is possible and that a stranger is just a friend waiting to be made.
To trust everyone, and doubt nothing.
What I wouldn’t give to be an innocent again.
Still The Rain Falls
When the rain falls
It takes away all things false
When the rain leaves
Clean is everything
But what happens
Between all things false
And all things clean?
Men fight as women scream
Children holler
Animals cry out
Bombs are dropped
All about
And still the rain falls
Lightening streaks the sky
So low and so dark
Thunder trembles the earth
So barren and so stark
But still the rain falls
A peasant child
Crying for her lost mother
Running through the streets
Deserted and ashen-smothered
Yet still the rain falls
Bodies scattered
Clothing torn
Lovers of the dead
Call out in scorn
Some won’t leave
Some won’t stay
Some can’t stand
And some can’t be held at bay
An arm here and a leg there
Innocence lost
Somehow somewhere
And still the rain falls
Fires light up the midnight sky
Bullets whiz by overhead
The birds no longer fly
Scavengers too scared to pick at the dead
But still the rain falls
So much pain
So much sorrow
No one wants to know
What will come with tomorrow
Yet still the rain falls
Ah, but rain always stops
And the sun comes out
We rebuild things
Strong and stout
The sun warms
The light shines
People live
No longer die
The dead are buried
Given tombs
No longer their loved ones
Left to doom
Flowers open
Breezes flow
Trees sway in the wind
Water flows
Red yellow green blue
So many colors
So much like glue
It sticks to us
Attaches to our memory
Our brain
Everything’s clean now
No more pain
Ah but you see
You mustn’t forget
The falling rain
Because like the sun
It will always come again
I warn you-there's a lot!
The World Through Different Eyes
March 2001
If only dreams were reality,
Then maybe one day I could see,
The world through different eyes.
Hope would live on,
Hearts would soar like birds;
Love would pour forth like a flowing fountain;
The world through different eyes.
The humming bees would forever be at peace.
The staggering sun would shine forever.
The bubbling brook would forever flow;
The world through different eyes.
With the ticking clock stopped,
The silent years would not whiz by;
We could stay forever young;
The world through different eyes.
God’s tears would never fall;
The burning winter never come;
Exploding flowers the only violence;
The world through different eyes.
Yet in my dreamworld,
You yourself would be there.
And after all this time, you could finally love me;
The world through a dreamer’s eyes.
Tell Me Lies
January, 2001
Tell me lies
For I fear the truth
Tell me you love me
For I love you too
Tell me lies
Be with me always
Don’t make me go
Ask me to stay
Tell me lies
I am yours forever
Say you need me
That you’ll leave me never
Tell me lies
Say I’m in your dreams
Stay here beside me
And never leave
I fear the truth
And without you I die
So please for the moment
Tell me lies
To Be Loved By You
One kiss
One more
Still another
To be held
By your warm strong arms
Is to know
The most and purest happiness
In the world over
To gaze into your loving eyes
Is to look upon the gates of heaven
For both alike are bathed in a warm golden light
To hear you speak
Is to hear millions of heavenly instruments
All finely tuned into a single triumphant solo
To touch you
Is to be blessed by so many thousands of angels
And finally to love you
Is to love and be honored by
Being held in your arms
To gaze into your eyes
To hear you whisper “I love you,” in my ear
To touch and caress you
This is what it is
To be loved by you
What I Wouldn’t Give
April, 2000
What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again.
To climb a tree, for no other reason than just to climb it, to the highest bough, and not worry about falling.
To build a tree-house in that same tree, even if it is really just a few slats of graying wood nailed to a tree with ancient, rusty nails
To be fearless enough to poke the tiny snake with a stick, while it slithers away into the bushes, and to offer the stray cat some food from the palm of my hand and not worry about disease.
To think that imagination is the greatest thing ever invented. It can be used to fight off the enemy aliens, or to dream of far away lands in which pigs fly, animals talk, and where the sun always shines.
To wear a homemade paper hat and sit in a cardboard box, and be fighting a sea battle with pirates, and to win and become the master of the seven seas.
To sit in the shade of a huge oak tree, and look to the passing clouds and make them into shapes – a fire engine, a tree, a cat, a wagon, a unicorn, a pirate ship – on a warm, breezy summer day.
To be hunting for tigers in the wild African jungles, even if you are really just looking for your lost cat in the park.
To go out and play in the rain, loving the feeling of the water running down from your head to your toe, and then to jump and splash in the puddles after the rain fades into a beautiful sunny day.
To pick a bunch of dandelions, so pretty in a field of green, to give to mother for her birthday, but stopping before you go to pick the flower with all the fuzzy white balls on it, and twirl around and scatter them into the wind, never to be seen again.
To feel that tinge of excitement when that darn tooth finally falls out, leaving behind a small reminder that, maybe an apple a day only pulls out your poor teeth, and then just barely missing, because you fell asleep, the tooth fairy’s arrival, bringing you something that makes the pain worth it.
To go down to the lake and sit at the end of the dock, fishing with only a wooden stick with a string tied to it and maybe perhaps some old bread for bait, dangling your bare feet into the chilly water, but loving the feel of the water sloshing between your toes.
To try to stay up all night long, clutching the flashlight as if perhaps if you let it go, you’ll surely fall into a giant abyss, waiting for any moment, the monster to jump out of the closet and carry you to closetland.
To rub your cheeks gently, which are still red and burning, after Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Leonard ambushed you at the family barbecue on the patio, exclaiming how long it’s been since they’ve seen you, and oh how you’ve grown, growing like a weed!
To feel the wind blowing through your hair as you take that first wild ride on your very own bicycle, going faster and faster until you realize that you don’t know how to stop, and topple over into the bushes, crying from the scrape on your knee, yet laughing at the excitement.
To pack up your necessities—teddy-bear, favorite shirt, which has been worn a million and one times, some clean underwear, as mother always said, the picture of your parents from their bedside table, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—and run away from home, because your mom told you to clean your room, but you’re forced to go back when you get to the end of the block, not only because you already miss everyone terribly, but because you just remembered-you’re not allowed to cross the street.
To wake up on Christmas morning, see the sun streaming in through the window, and running down the stairs to the living room, and before you even see the star of the brilliantly lit and decorated tree, stopping to take a moment on the last stair to say a quiet, but heartfelt, thank you to the big man in red for all that you are about to discover under the tower of evergreen, blinking lights, and ornaments from the year 1982, then tearing through the brilliantly colored paper-wrapped gifts, whether they’re yours or not, until you find the one you’re looking for, the one that you’ve wanted since July.
To wonder if the fruit in the basket on the table is real, or wax. After all, you wouldn’t want to make that mistake again.
To believe that anything is possible and that a stranger is just a friend waiting to be made.
To trust everyone, and doubt nothing.
What I wouldn’t give to be an innocent again.
Still The Rain Falls
When the rain falls
It takes away all things false
When the rain leaves
Clean is everything
But what happens
Between all things false
And all things clean?
Men fight as women scream
Children holler
Animals cry out
Bombs are dropped
All about
And still the rain falls
Lightening streaks the sky
So low and so dark
Thunder trembles the earth
So barren and so stark
But still the rain falls
A peasant child
Crying for her lost mother
Running through the streets
Deserted and ashen-smothered
Yet still the rain falls
Bodies scattered
Clothing torn
Lovers of the dead
Call out in scorn
Some won’t leave
Some won’t stay
Some can’t stand
And some can’t be held at bay
An arm here and a leg there
Innocence lost
Somehow somewhere
And still the rain falls
Fires light up the midnight sky
Bullets whiz by overhead
The birds no longer fly
Scavengers too scared to pick at the dead
But still the rain falls
So much pain
So much sorrow
No one wants to know
What will come with tomorrow
Yet still the rain falls
Ah, but rain always stops
And the sun comes out
We rebuild things
Strong and stout
The sun warms
The light shines
People live
No longer die
The dead are buried
Given tombs
No longer their loved ones
Left to doom
Flowers open
Breezes flow
Trees sway in the wind
Water flows
Red yellow green blue
So many colors
So much like glue
It sticks to us
Attaches to our memory
Our brain
Everything’s clean now
No more pain
Ah but you see
You mustn’t forget
The falling rain
Because like the sun
It will always come again
I warn you-there's a lot!
