Poems – by Buddy

One Must Die

Once on earth a long time ago.
Half our species was the other half’s foe.

Most wars began with man’s own greed.
He cultivated hatred with a well planted seed.

Wars we’d start and then stop again.
Running short of weapons not of men.

Today weapons are powerful and piled high of sight.
Each half afraid of the other half’s might.

Our leaders keep check, balancing each day.
Struggling through summit,hoping war will decay.

Some say “keep wars small, it relieves tension.”
Others want small outbreaks of intervention.

But the hungry war lord keeps eating our sons
Our hate grows higher. Our bullets by tons.

Some day our weapons will pile to the end of the sky.
And in a far off rice paddy, two are left-one must die.



To Be Humble

The weeping willow tree
with all the majestic tranquility
of a towering mound
bows gracefully to the plucking
of the smallest child.



A Feeling

Sometimes I like to
walk into the woods
and smell the green freshness
that bleeds from the trees and flowers
saturating the gentle breeze
a scent so pleasing,
relaxing my weary soul.



Irony

They were friends, the timy sand
ant and the towering desert camel

For years they shared the many
laborious jurney’s
across the smoldering desert
with only their friednship to
pacify their burden

But then, as it will
time overcame endurance and
the famed last straw broke
the camel’s back

So the memory of his life
long friend would stay with him,
alive and forever.
The tiny ant picked up the straw
and sadly walked away.



In God’s Image

And so the man said, “see how I have this
porpoise trained, each time I hold out this
piece of fish meat, he leaps from the water
and gently takes it from my hand.”

And so the porpoise said, “see how I have
this man trained, each time I leap from the
water, he holds out a piece of fish meat
and I gently take it from his hand.



Begins

My friend would go to a bar
from time to time.
Using whiskey to dilute the problems
of his captive mind.

My friend created the problems
and made captive his mind.
When he entered a bar for the
very first time.



First Impression

He never liked anyone at first
He thought them evil, untrustworthy
——————–snakish.

Later he’d find he was wrong and
There was a good feeling, a pleasant end.

He liked everyone at first
He thought them nice, trustworthy
——————–likish.

Later he’d find he was wrong and
There was a bad feeling, an unpleasant end.



Mirror

I put myself into everything I do
The reward is accomplishment.

Where there is accomplishment
There’s usually a change.

For this reason, I never see
Myself in anything I do.



The Sea

Forty-two years of slumber
And the silent sleep of the iced blue depth.

A forest of weeds,it’s mysterious
Boneless motion beckon the intruder,
A hypnotic voice so soothing,so pleasant,
So unforgiving.

For one mistake and the awaiting bottom
Becomes a grave, the white caps
His tombstone

And with the rest of the captive relics,
Forty-two tears of slumber
And the silent sleep of the iced blue depth.



Gratitude

There was once a man who lacked
drive and ambition.
He spent most of his time bumming
around or going fishing.

One day while hunting worms for bait
he made an astounding discovery
that was to determine his fate.

Now he had in his hand, twisting,
wiggling with each turn. A real
live, talking, magic worm.

Just like all other magic stories
of the past,
Three wishes was all the man was to ask.

With a glow in his eye, filled with
excitement and glee,
He made a wish, the first of three.

He wished for a life of fortume
and fame,
With a puff of smoke, a little light,
true the wish came.

The second wish was for eternal
life and good health.
He was assured he would have it
because – well, just look at his wealth.

His third wish was for a true love
to make his life complete,
And in the span of a second – there
She stood, warm and sweet.

Now they were gone, all three
of his wishes.
Well, what good’s a powerless worm?
He fed it to the fishes.



Color

Roses are red violets blue
Decades of poems written just for “you”.

Most of love, hugs and kissing
Few of sadness or you i’ll be missing.

None of violence, out of norm
None of sickness, thunder or storm.

Just thoughts of happiness written in phrase
To make you smile for eons of days.

How sad it would be and the words not said
Had roses been blue and violets been red.



Moon

Night comes with darkness so shy,
Painting pictures through-out the sky.
Stars twinkle, blinking and nod,
Little girls sleep, teddy by side.
All things at rest, dream land in sight,
A wonderful journey through life’s magic night.
Earth turning to make it’s day,
Creating time along the way.
But that orange ball of a beast,
Starts to rise so hot in the east,
Melting dreams as flakes of snow,
A liquid nourishment for life to grow.
And the lark sings ever too soon
As she goes her way, our precious moon.



Photo

Images of the past, etched from black,
Musty memories hazily come back

To brighten the present, an emotional mixture,
Living forever, in a forgotten picture.



Knot

A bow is a knot that’s not.



The Boogie Man

I walked on a moonlit beach last night. I imagined wretched crabs, creatures from the deep and the shadow of the Boogie Man. Still, I strolled, watched and listened cautiously. I heard the melodic tone orchestrated between the notes of pounding waves. I felt a chilling breeze as I bathed beneath a blanket of a winking stars. Then, the warm sun ascended from the ocean’s floor The small crabs scurried into their holes and seaweed covered driftwood lay lifeless on the beach Now, I knew the Boogie Man was my friend.



In Dying, A Rose For Emily

(An interpretation of William Faulkner’s “A Rose For Emily”)

“The South had lost, but she would never die,”
This she said, ragged and torn:
A tableay of ruins and dead that lie
In bottoms of graves that shovels had worn.

No longer stood fathers with sibilent whips,
Fighting for States to secede,
Or for rights of slavery from far in ships
So misguided and virulent indeed.

In smoldering fields where cannons roar ole,
And gray blood laid hardened by air,
A lonely soldress stood wounded of soul,
And vowed to fight with grimacing stare.

Even the commons hailed noblesse oblige,
And the Emilys would tell,
Of weapons, arsenic, and comrads they’d seek
In Alabama and of friends that rid the smell.

Even children with painted messages to hide
And black servants blemished with libel,
Stood with dignity, duty, and pride,
Bound by honor, allies to cabal.

Slaying the rats and barrons from far,
That invaded with sidewalks and nail,
Obliterating august names with scar,
Still, the Emilys fought in silence of sail.

With coquettish grace as before,
She vanquished them, horse and foot,
Seducing the enemy as if to adore
A pleasure among cinder and soot.

With inflection, the Emilys had a rose,
For it all seemed justified and fair;
That the enemy lay dead, frozen in pose,
Beside him, iron gray, a confederate hair.

Was it truly over? Was this the end?
Were warriors at peace one by the other? Did indentation a false message send?
Will forever fight sister against brother?



Snow Fall

THE BEAUTY OF A SNOWFALL (For someone who has never experienced snow)

The seasons have changed. The wind blows cold and chills you to your very soul. The temperature drops to freezing and the moisture-laden clouds give up their bounty. Liquid falls transforming into pure white symmetrical crystals, all individual, no two alike. They dance to earth in a harmonious ballet orchestrated to the sound of an on coming fog, then lay collected in a blanket of white covering all things made dull and lifeless by the coming of winter.

THE BEAUTY OF A SNOWFALL (For someone who hates snow.)

We don’t mean to be snowflakes you know. In fact, we are very happy being rain. But when the temperature becomes very cold, it causes us to transform into crystalline beauties as we fall from our heavenly host. We are a metamorphosis so symmetrical, so exact that we must be the works of the “Big Guy.” And we try to please the “Big Guy” if you know what we mean. We are particulate filters in flight, covering the meadows, mountains, streets and steeples with a blanket of white in its purest of form. We create beautiful memories and pleasures for children of all ages. We’re building material for forts to protect, snow balls to throw and snowmen to dress. We didn’t mean to be cold, wet or in your way. And, we sure don’t like being plowed up, mixed with dirt, melted with salt and frozen in the wheel wells of every vehicle that sloshes us about. So look very closely and see if the stuff you hate isn’t the stuff you make. Because for sure, when the “Big Guy” makes us, we’re beautiful.



Saddnes Of Alzhimer

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean, drag racing and rock “n roll, joining the army and being drafted for a second tour, graduating from high school, survival in on the streets of D.C., being booked for stealing food for the family at age ten, being raised in the slums of the city.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean, drag racing and rock “n roll, joining the army and being drafted for a second tour, graduating from high school, survival in on the streets of D.C., being booked for stealing food for the family at age ten.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean, drag racing and rock “n roll, joining the army and being drafted for a second tour, graduating from high school, survival in on the streets of D.C.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean, drag racing and rock “n roll, joining the army and being drafted for a second tour, graduating from high school.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean, drag racing and rock “n roll, joining the army and being drafted for a second tour.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean, drag racing and rock “n roll.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer, treasure hunting throughout the Caribbean.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building houses, working as an engineer.

I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school, building

houses. I remember yesterday and the day before, starting back to school.

I remember yesterday and the day before.

I remember yesterday.

I remember.

I.

.



Day Star

Here, where sand and sea meet and the daystar rest on wooden planks, time begins, over and again.



A Tree

I think that I shall never see A tree that wishes to be me



Gravity

Long before substance or mass or motion or light, nothing did non-exist, in non-time, in non-space. Space was created with the inception of substance, of motion, of light. Space became something consisting of nothing.



Random

If you where to zoom in the direction of God, you would find your peripheral, present and past immersed in the Beginning. To zoom further would be a motionless journey into nothingness where thought is dark. Beginning and Motion are born the same. They are visible and parents of Time and Space. Baring the probability of simultaneous, multiple Beginnings, Motion has no specific bearing. Thus, Motion is infinitely Random. Random is the matriarch of all words, the king of all things. Beginning, Motion, Time and Space are Random.



Creative Writing

I like this place called creative writing
Where thought fission has no boundaries
And the reality of time and space intersect
At the center of the final period.



The Big Bang

Time is spherical
God is at the surface of perpetually expanding Spherical Time.
Here, where Infinite Future dissolves to Distance Past, myths indefinable Present.
God is Present.



Still

My body lay damaged,
a collision with time.
Still
My thoughts are un-bandaged,
no crutch in my mind.

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