Tag: Poetry

The Hot Springs

The water of the river rushes by,
And I sip off a frosty pisco sour,
Hearing the day telling me to comply
By not paying attention to the hour.
It is easy to do because I sit
In the warming comfort of the hot spring,
Taking away the way my muscles knit
Themselves into a tight stressful feeling.
But here I am safe within this valley,
Isolated from the problems outside,
A place where I am able to just be
And where I wish I could always reside.
I will place that idea behind me,
And just enjoy the moment to be free.

Life Finds a Way

On top of the world where the air is thin,
Life finds a way to struggle and blossom.
After hundreds of years trying to win,
It will take over pace when given some,
Crawling through the rocks a millimeter
A time, even though it may take a yea
For it and that long distance to occur.
Yet life cannot live an era of fear
If it wishes to not only survive,
But to show to those that it fights against,
That its truthful intentions are to thrive
With all of its payments fully expensed.
Life is always willing to find a way
As it fights for it on everyday.

Our Time in the Old City

There is no reason for us to quicken
Up the pace of the day we are living
For there is nothing that can be taken
When the moment is all about giving.
We’ve found ourselves in the heart of old town
With windy paths waiting to be explored.
If the choice is bad, we can go back down
To find one our memories will adore.
There are rest’rants with food to be eaten,
And mementoes chirping from the store fronts.
Though the many streets have been well beaten,
It feels like we’re the only one who hunts.
This day and this city belongs to us,
And where it takes us, I will put my trust.

Modern Debate

There is a time when we should be silent
Because it is no longe about discourse;
Instead how certain issues make us vent,
And we hope to be the challenging force.
But that does not mean that all will agree,
And might see things in a different way.
They know that they should let the matter be,
And not to add with their discordant bray.
Yet you continue to blow your trumpet
Because you want to be the one who’s right,
But the thing about this you do not get
By blowing, you’ve already lost the fight.
The true purpose of having a debate
Is to find compromise to make us great.

Morning Coffee

It’s a quiet morning cup of coffee,
Paired with catching up conversation
About how a loved-one’s soul was set free
From the bounds of this earthly detention.
Our words hang in the air over the steam,
Avoiding any hint of causing pain
While inside we begging just to scream
About the suffering that still remains.
Instead we will talk about the weather,
Or the current condition of the state,
But this will not help the wounds get better,
Or give us cause to avoid our known fate.
I’ll just curl up around my cup of joe,
Leaving all these feelings no place to go.

All That You’ve Gotten

Who can know what memories we will find
As we go through the stuff in your closet,
All the treasures that you have left behind,
The ones you wished we would never forget.
We piled them up on the couches and chairs
So family could go through what you had
In the hope they could find fashion like theirs,
Thinking that their new homes would make you glad.
Not all items can find that special place,
So we will have to bag up all the rest
Because we are trying to make some space
For those left behind in this empty nest.
It is not that you will be forgotten
When we get rid of all that you’ve gotten.

A Dog’s New Home

What is this strange new world I landed in
Filled with happy people beneath the trees?
It is nothing like the place I have been,
A paradise with a salty air breeze.
I will walk down the street to take it in,
Finding new smells, on the way, as I go.
The rush of traffic has a controlled din,
And they’re happy even when they go slow.
I have plenty of space on this sidewalk
Where I don’t have to worry about cars,
Giving me extra time to sniff and stalk,
Society free from restricting bars.
I cannot believe this utopia,
A dog’s favorite cornucopia.

Patio Politics

The summer was made for a patio
Connected to a neighborhood tavern.
It is where the beer taps can freely flow,
And we can ignore how the world will burn.
The television only airs sports shows,
And we can cheer for our favorite team.
It does not matter how the final goes
Because it distracts us from the obscene.
The locals chatter about their long day
As they struggle to put it behind them,
But is is better than watching the fray
Of a nation singing its final hymn.
We can stand up and attempt to compete
Against the government in its defeat.

Return to My Childhood

There is a pink building in west Lakewood
That draws crowds from all over the nation.
The cuisine they serve is not very good,
And bills have gone through a price explosion.
But it is hard to resist the cliff diver
Performing to a Mariachi band.
The roaming gorilla is the driver
For the amount of fun to be on hand.
They will keep your margarita glass filled,
So you can explore Black Bart’s Cave.
The puppet show is just as it is billed,
And the illusionist is all the rave.
My lost childhood is ready to meet ya
In the world famous Casa Bonita.

The Move

I know crazy is about to happen,
And this is the reprieve before it does,
So I breathe deeply to take the calm in
Before we return to the way it was.
The hours starting at seventy-two
Will count slowly down until we arrive,
Washing away the day and the flight we flew,
Not to mention the long cross-country drive.
There will be arguments along the way;
Instead, we will remember the laughter,
For we will need that for a later day
When struggles are what we need to ‘counter.
It is something bigger than a road trip
Rather it’s our life going through a flip.