Tag: Poetry

Our Private Cove

Across the sand, the walk is in our reach
Where we will leave society behind
To find a cove with our own private beach.
Though people may search, they will never find
Where the noise is drowned by the gentle waves,
And the seabirds will keep us company,
Telling tales of how the weather behaves,
And how nature provides them with plenty.
It’s here where we will take after their cue,
Losing count of moments that slipped away
Because when the days are finally through,
It is only now that is within play.
I’m glad we have wandered from the hotel
To a wonderful new place we can dwell.

The Search for Summer’s End

It is not just the sun the blue sky,
But with the oppressive humidity,
The heat outside feels as if I will die
If I do not escape from its cruelty.
But I am without any place to stay,
So I have to hug the walls in the shade,
And I wait for the ending of the day
With the night’s air not worthy to evade.
The breeze will blow in from the salty sea,
Brushing away the sweat across my brow.
It is then I can finally find me,
Not the discomfort the sun will allow.
Will a time come when we see Summer end,
Or do we just continue to pretend?

Drifting

The water is warm and the ocean blue,
Allowing me to see the fish swim by.
The sun rose in the sky as the day grew,
And the storm clouds showed us how they were shy.
I laid within the Caribbean hear,
Letting the waves offer me transcendence,
Taking me away in the sea’s heartbeat
From the daily problems I knew came whence.
I can just follow the blue above me
To see where I will eventually land,
And from society’s bonds I’ll be free
Upon my own balance to take a stand.
I can wait for that opportunity
For I am busy drifting off to sea.

Vacation’s Creep

The waves lap up from water of pure blue
Upon the beach of the finest of sand.
The sky only hints of storms it once knew,
And ignores the ones that nature has planned.
A slight breeze blows over the salty air,
Gently easing my mind into a sleep.
The Caribbean Sea would never dare
To steal from anyone slumber’s creep.
I will give into the hypnotic game,
For there is nothing better I need do,
And if I miss this appointment, I’ll shame
The slavers that push their agenda through.
I will play the victim to this station,
Just so I can enjoy my vacation.

The Con

Which broken promise will get you to turn?
You keep buying into his constant lies
While America continues to burn,
And our international standing dies.
It’s not like his old jokes are getting new;
They just distract you from his blundering,
And the only thing he knows how to do
Is to inspire with his complaining.
For his imagined media witch hunts
That do nothing but uncover the proof,
All he really gives are sniveling grunts
Because the snowflake can’t handle the truth.
History will not be kind to this man,
But do not go down with him if you can.

Stealing Memories

Try as you might, the past is in the past,
And I know you’d like to recreate it
Just so you can make the great moments last,
And live a life without any regret.
So you go and book the same place again
Even though the old friends that came last time
Leave you now wondering where they have been
As they have moved on to a different clime.
It might be the same games and the same songs
That occupy the time that you are here,
But the feeling that you hope still belongs
No longer resonates the same or clear.
Though you try to return to that feeling,
It’s new memories from which you are stealing.

The Cycle

I have watched my son grow into a man,
And I made sure to guide him on the way.
I taught him to walk and watched as he ran.
I took the time to engage in child’s play.
I watched him struggle and to thrive in school.
I helped him decide on better choices.
I shed tears when he was and was not cool
As he tried out his various voices.
He eventually grew up and moved on,
Leaving me alone in an empty home.
I learned to live in the years he was gone,
Reaching the end of my narrative tome.
Now, he has come back and in his return,
I have found so much I need to relearn.

Earned Rewards

We started the day getting on the move,
Leaving the hotel we stayed at behind,
Just while the locals were finding their groove,
So new adventure is what we could find.
We traversed across the sacred valley,
And hunted to find our nightly lodging,
Yet we found that we needed to rally
Because we have listened to the mountain ring.
There is a city hidden in those clouds
That is the main reason we have come here,
And we are grateful history allowed
To make it on a day that is so clear.
So please raise you glass over this earned meal
Because only a day like this feels real.

Hidden in the Clouds

We have hiked to the summit of this peak,
Through hanging clouds, early in the morning
Just to see what the rising sun does seek,
And the sights that we wait to see forming.
The mist will cling to the top of the mountains,
Fighting against the heat of this near star,
But as the day progresses, what remains
Is wisps dancing in the air for afar.
Below is revealed the greatest sight,
A town hidden from civilization
Which, at one time, reached the greatest of height,
But now hides in history’s rotation.
The only way we know how it begun,
To speak of memories with the day’s sun.

The Valleys of the Andes

I can see down into all the valleys
From my perch on the edge of the mountains
High within the clouds up in the Andes.
Like ants, the people practice their routines,
Going about in their typical ways,
Not even aware of my eyes above,
Watching them as they bundle through their days.
Have they been able to find what they love?
Are they stuck in their eternal circle,
Living each day like they have lived before?
Do they even know that their life is dull,
Not seeking out something with more allure?
Does my position give me perspective
That is different from the way they live?