Poetry Before Breakfast

Poetry Before Breakfast

The Poet and the Painter

Search for Soul

The Poet’s Sense

The Poet’s Reach

Flight of Fancy

Poetry Before Breakfast
How I love the morning light,
That greets me as I alight,
And rub the sleep from my eyes,
To begin my day as I surmise,
Things before me that comprise,
My day’s agenda that otherwise,
Might fall off to my surprise,
Lost until the next sun rise.

The Poet and the Painter
The poet and the painter,
many worlds apart,
Tied by desire,
to perfect their art.

The poet and the painter,
surely they must be,
The persons that they are,
their artful minds to see.

To cast thoughts upon the canvas,
or capture images in print,
The wonders of our world,
to give a little hint.

Of life and its true goal,
the tireless human soul,
The poet and the painter,
only they can know,

Creating wonder out of life,
for all the world to show.

Search for Soul
There is a place where we must go,
To stop and listen - take it slow,
Catch a tune, or hear a phrase,
Stop to listen - escape the maze,
And go about a search for soul,
Something new or maybe old,
To fill the void - vacuous,
Make us whole - nothing less.

The Poet’s Sense
Hav’n the sense of a poet
Not school taught but from within
The God given purest of gifts
Free from mortality’s sins

To know the roaring ocean
From a drop on a grain of sand
The poet’s sense is given
From the heart and then the hand

The raging beauty of nature
The allure of emotion gone
A snow capped alpine range
The poet’s heart does rest upon

The plight of the human condition
Love loss hate and war
The poet does easily caress
Poetry is so much more

It captures the essence of eons
Of decades and centuries gone by
Giving life to moments lost
Of sadness and great joy

Of hurt and all its pain
Of dirt amidst the rain
Of sunshine on the sill
Of man’s folly to kill

The poet’s heart not calloused
Open and free it feels
Exposed to worldly elements
From madness it does reel

Hav’n the sense of a poet
Is not something to dread
It breathes life into the poet
Til their last poem is read

The Poet’s Reach
Poets reach, for the sky,
Aiming for a point,
Beyond what life provides,

Searching their heart, mind, and soul,
In hopes their bodies,
Are one day whole,

There is no boundary,
Nor an end,
For what a poet does portend,

A glimpse or capture,
Snapshot in time,
Through versatile verse and melodic rhyme,

What element of life,
Does the poet see,
Through eyes clear with veracity?

The huddled masses,
The starving poor,
Empty empathy which they endure,

Long lost places,
Natural no more,
A mall; parking lot; monster warehouse; all sewers,

Emphatic yearning,
For what was once pristine,
Poetically exploring narcissistic dreams,

A poet’s memory,
Brought to life,
With pen and paper daily strife,

Of ordinary men,
And women too,
Sometimes victims of the paths they choose,

A clear remembrance,
Of a long ago love,
A hunt afield gone far above,

Never ending,
Always changing,
The poet’s search sometimes hanging,

Above and beyond,
What lies here firm,
To have and to hold- to re-affirm,

How far? How often?
What does it take,
For the poet’s reach to finally lay stake?

And claim the bounty,
Of the hunt,
Through heart and soul sans bodily stunt,

The poet’s reach,
It knows no bounds,
Surpassing all artistry with mindful sounds.

Flight of Fancy
To fight a flight of fancy,
Of how to live one’s life,
To stick with tried and true,
Or step out and try to strive,

For one’s own purposeful meaning,
The way we see our world,
Free of the many vestiges,
To watch our life unfurl,

As our own and as it should be,
To take all that we are,
And build a person meant to be,
Whose journey takes them far,

To heights they never knew before,
To see things never known,
To unlock the deepest soul filled desires,
To know a life their own,

And with the strength of knowledge,
Knowing they are who they can be,
Living life to the fullest each day,
And truly know they are free,

I’m tired of living life,
In a way fit for some,
For me a hideous jail,
That I yearn to escape from,

To run through fields so freely,
Wind blowing through my hair,
My toes dig in to the earth,
As I laugh without a care,

To know there are no limits,
To the joys of life for me,
Exploring, growing, knowing,
I’m free for eternity,

To see my wildest dreams,
Come true before my eyes,
Filling each and every day,
With fullness and surprise,

To freely live and love and do,
Those things so right to me,
A life of boundless understanding,
Through which I can be free

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Poetry Before Breakfast

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