August 2015
I am a poet living in the wilds of central Nebraska with his wife and two boys, two dogs and four cats. I write poetry to calm the mind and soothe the soul. At least my mind and soul.
The Storm
lightning flashes,
her eyes angry,
her mood dark,
storm clouds merging and building,
disrupting this peaceful day,
the impending storm,
unseen in the darkness of night,
thunders forth in the light of day,
tributes or sacrifices forgotten,
or maybe she felt,
still unpaid,
thus her thunderstorm to rule the day.
Limbo
treading water,
daily the waves come,
pushing water into the mouth,
and eyes,
the shore nowhere in sight,
close the eyes,
and summon the strength needed,
wondering if this the day,
the reserves within,
empty.
Voices
in the quiet,
listen to the voices,
heard by no one else,
relatives discuss and decide,
maybe angels,
or just a symptom of a troubled mind,
tobacco smoke,
the common man's incense,
rises,
sanctifying and sacred.
The Rainbow
magical the colors,
the rainbow a pathway to the imagination,
where dreams come true,
or at least,
hopes can live,
tended and hoarded,
a treasure to grow.
Water
primeval the noise of the stream,
an ancient sound,
bringing comfort,
soothing,
a sense of home,
the urge to stop walking,
and sit upon the banks,
among the reeds,
and cattails,
comfortable,
watching the time pass by,
then home.
Discouraged
frustration reigns,
still I search,
too stubborn to stop,
or lower expectations,
home to get some rest,
but the soul continues,
adrift,
frustration reigns.
Images
images of moose and bullfrog,
seen dancing,
on walls,
the colors green and gray,
his imagination limitless,
unfettered,
dangerous and unhealthy,
the doctors say,
for all they can see,
are walls,
green and gray.
lightning flashes,
her eyes angry,
her mood dark,
storm clouds merging and building,
disrupting this peaceful day,
the impending storm,
unseen in the darkness of night,
thunders forth in the light of day,
tributes or sacrifices forgotten,
or maybe she felt,
still unpaid,
thus her thunderstorm to rule the day.
Limbo
treading water,
daily the waves come,
pushing water into the mouth,
and eyes,
the shore nowhere in sight,
close the eyes,
and summon the strength needed,
wondering if this the day,
the reserves within,
empty.
Voices
in the quiet,
listen to the voices,
heard by no one else,
relatives discuss and decide,
maybe angels,
or just a symptom of a troubled mind,
tobacco smoke,
the common man's incense,
rises,
sanctifying and sacred.
The Rainbow
magical the colors,
the rainbow a pathway to the imagination,
where dreams come true,
or at least,
hopes can live,
tended and hoarded,
a treasure to grow.
Water
primeval the noise of the stream,
an ancient sound,
bringing comfort,
soothing,
a sense of home,
the urge to stop walking,
and sit upon the banks,
among the reeds,
and cattails,
comfortable,
watching the time pass by,
then home.
Discouraged
frustration reigns,
still I search,
too stubborn to stop,
or lower expectations,
home to get some rest,
but the soul continues,
adrift,
frustration reigns.
Images
images of moose and bullfrog,
seen dancing,
on walls,
the colors green and gray,
his imagination limitless,
unfettered,
dangerous and unhealthy,
the doctors say,
for all they can see,
are walls,
green and gray.
©2015 Douglas Polk