The Wind's Wrong *revised*

What is love?
is it big or small,
does it float above
or does it fall?

Will it cause folks
haphazardly to meet,
in line for smokes
or in the street?

Do you ever really know?
or are you just supposed to go,
carried by the wistful wind,
does it even matter in the end?

I've grown to hate
these winds of fate,
they're content just moving air,
with no reason behind how or where.

My destiny is not for me,
how could it ever be?
a gentle breeze fills the trees,
it makes my stomach ill at ease.


Dear Gary,

When I was down, you helped me
out of a jam, and you played a part
in making me the man I am.

I know we didn't know each other long
and technically we aren't family,
but you were like an extra dad,
and more, you were a friend to me.

You taught me things about
what a man is, by simply being an example.
The things you shared, the lessons you taught
without words, your wisdom was ample,
I absorbed all I could.

You were always reslilient,
always doing good for friends,
and family, and those you didn't even know.
It doesn't seem fair at all to me,
that people like you must go.

But death is inevitable, I know you knew that,
and I know you'd be the first
to tell me not to be sad.
You had a full life, you experienced joys
I never have; you loved the open road,
a roaring harley beneath you,
wind whipping across your face,
going fast seemed to free you.

So much left unsaid, until next time,
I just hope you knew,
your smile and warm heart
made a difference to me,
and I'm truly gonna miss you.


Disillusioned *revised*

Okay so this poem is very personal to me, it is as all poems are a work in progress. If you have any suggestions as to how this can be made more effective, or more clear, or just want to share your response good or bad, please do so. I feel I will be working on this one for quite some time before I will feel it is "finished." enjoy

Too much to say, I forgot where to start,
I know I need to wash clothes soon, but why?
dirty dishes need tending to, but I
have stains which need mending too.

Grow up, be a big boy and wear the pants
your fathers wore, hurry up and get a job son
or you'll surely end up poor; If I'd just had the chance
to get some perspective before I'd begun.

Sit down with the unmoved mover,
ask him why we must maintain,
a state of perfection before he'll maneuver
in the realm of our senses again.

Just a word, a glimpse, a sign
would surely be enough,
but when the only voice is mine,
my bias makes it tough

to hold an impartial view
of what life is meant to be for me,
and whether or not the same applies to you.

They say he walked the earth
for thirty three some odd years,
and they're awfully zealous that after birth
and death, came resurrection, a cure for mortal fears.

I've examined what they call evidence
and there's some compelling reasoning,
but it's tough to tell the difference
between inherent logic, and wishful thinking.

The latter clouded my judgment
so it seemed to all make sense,
I longed for a little contentment
so I put up a weak defense.

For now I'm fine with not knowing
what it is that makes up reality,
where we came from, where we're going,
and whether we'll ever know what it was meant to mean.


If The Shoe Fits

why are we so quick
to nitpick and look
down on those we see,
doesn't it occur to us that we,
could fill a book,
perhaps a volume
with our darling secrets.
who do you think you are,

if the proverbial shoe fits,
take it off chum,
you won't get far.