Tag: poem

Something New

Sometimes we do what we do not want to,
Thinking we just have to endure the day,
Hopefully knowing we can make it through,
And return back to our regular play.
But something strange happens along the way
That the moment we thought would be painful
Did not turn the day overcast and gray,
And it became an event kind of cool.
I should abandon preconceived notions
Because it’s more than often they are wrong;
Instead, I should enjoy the emotions
That come when I decide to go along.
I should stop looking for the worst in life,
And I will leave behind all of the strife.

Watching from Our Place

The clouds rush their way across the night sky,
Trying to obscure the light of the moon,
But the light wisps are too eager to fly
To retain the celestial god’s boon.
He watches over the town on the hill
With its collection of twinkling lights,
Recognizing that people live there still
Who enjoy the sky’s smiling man’s delights.
I sit across the valley on my ridge
In a chair on the deck of my cabin
With the evening as our only bridge
Connecting the empty space in-between.
Does the eternal round face even care
That we know that he is up in the air?

Changing of the Season

It feels as if summer has just begun,
And I am already hearing whispers
Of shorter days and a cold fading sun
When the air nibbles a little crisper.
I do not wish to stay outside as long,
At least not without a fluffy sweater,
For the north wind blows a little too strong,
And next to a wood stove would feel better.
There’s something about the change in the air
That makes me feel a wee bit nostalgic
For a time when I did not have a care,
And joy was based upon youthful logic.
I do not know which days I long for more
Because both are a shutting of a door.

The Return Home

I need to leave the world I know behind
And though it is only for a short time,
Upon my return, I will start to find
That I do not come back to the same clime.
Though it may appear vey much the same,
I will discover when I dig deeper
That a friend will have a new face and name,
And the happening place, now’s a sleeper.
What became of this place while I was gone?
Who is responsible for all the change?
Will I always long for the days of yon
When the place I came from was not so strange?
My fate at my home is to be alone
When I am the one who has never grown.

The Death of the Movie Theater

Have we lost all originality?
Can we no longer tell a new story?
You create what you think we want to see,
A re-skinning of an old property.
When that does not draw in the wanted crowd,
You will just go with the trusted sequel,
A watered down original, but proud,
That will get all the fan boys to squeal.
It is our money that you want to grab,
And you do not care about the true art.
Instead of taking a creative stab,
You keep churning out the crap without heart.
Do not claim it’s the death of the theater
When you put out another repeater.

The Wind-up Clock

This is the last time we will wind the clock,
And we can watch it tick down ’til it stops.
The face reports the final time in lock
Being one of remembrance’s props.
Until that moment, we’ll ignore the tick
That reminds us of the limited time.
Instead, we will play on our ears, a trick
Of covering sound with a happy chime.
No matter how much noise that we can make,
The reminder will hover in our mind
Because time holds all the power to take,
Leaving only out memories behind.
Let’s make the most out of each passing tock
By not paying attention to that clock.

Summer Night in the Park

The afternoon is starting to wind down
As the sun gets reflected in the pond,
Dancing off, its sparkles will never drown
Until it sets, breaking its final bond.
I find a park bench somewhere in the shade
Where I open up the weight of a story,
Losing myself in the action that’s played,
Consuming its theme in all its glory.
Couples holding hands enjoy their own tale,
Believing the curtain will never close.
I hope that the comedy will prevail
Just as the breeze over the still pond blows.
You could not ask for a more perfect night,
The ones filled with a summer-like delight.

That One Stop on the Way Back to the Hotel

I know we are off the beaten path,
But we make sure the busses come here,
For we are the forgotten who do not hath
In the sacred place the world holds so dear.
Our hope is to tap into your pity,
So you might part with a single dinar
That will help with the growth of our city
From the weight of recent history’s scar.
You get to walk away with a trinket
That will remind you of your vacation,
And with payment there is food I will get
That will cure my family’s starvation.
Do not look at my excessive stomach;
My living is finding the one to take.

Responsibility on Hold

Life is busy on top of the mountain
As we take care of work and family.
I can not take in the sights I have seen
Because my duties do not make me free.
But I will travel down that windy road
That will remove me from my place up high,
Then I can discard this burdensome load
That me to this rocky top, it does tie.
I will make my way down below the sea
Where the sun peeks out underneath the clouds.
There I’ll find a different way to be
That releases me from the hectic crowds.
It’s a day of restful relaxation
When we take the Labor Day vacation.

The Bedouin Lament

We have always known how to tame this land
Though few can handle its brutality.
We share its beauty with a gracious hand,
But understand of its fragility.
On our camels, We’ll guide you through its sand
To marvel at its protruding mountains,
And at night, what you witness is so grand,
The canvas of sky, the light of star stains.
There are those who would like to see us banned
For they have found value with where we live.
For our old lifestyle, we must take a stand,
And we can save what they want us to give.
History tells us that we will not win,
Marking the passing of the Bedouin.