A lack of literary artifice is no sin,
So long as the way of the words invite the soul in.
'Poets are used to discovering, years after a poem is written, what it's really about.'
-Kathleen Norris (from: 'The Cloister Walk')
'To live is to fly
Both low and high.'
-Townes Van Zandt
'You ... more »
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Smoky Hoss Poems
Come and see the old poet Laying in his bed of ashes and dust, His love in ruins His mentality frozen by restless rust,
Cat & I
There we sat Just me and the cat, Upon a bench overlooking the river Thames, The cat turned to me
Don't we all wonder, remotely - in ways we cannot even fully understand - 'What's this all about? ' Age has invaded our mind
The black-eyed Susans are gone, the question of fall has begun.
A Young Mans Dream
When I was barely a teen I heard a rock-n-roll singer sing, Something about a sweet and fast little thing - Said she was the finest thing he'd ever seen
She broke her collar-bone in a soccer game, meant for fun. She's so tough and fearless, at times. So small and fragile, at others.
My mind is in the serried, towering clouds On the long and distant horizon. Big, beautiful, bouyant, and bright, full of wild wonder;
Cats and dogs Chickens and hogs Lumps in the 'taters And bumps on a log -
A Different Look
Go, sit out at night be watched by the moon, stars and milky way, stay, and love those incredible sights until dawn breaks fresh upon a whole new day.
' For the beginning is assuredly the end -since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities. ' - William Carlos Williams
Dream Number 4 (love)
Lying together upon a grassy knoll we watch the wind blow our stars past the moon, we hold tight, as if not to would bring a death, though I know it will end, and all too soon.
I recall the times I'd dance on life's delicate toes, Always believing The faster I'd live, the more of living I would know -
In the big lake wide waves flow, into an unruly caprice that ever onward grows and goes -
Duke and Roy
Hang up your old hat Put your boots in a box Trade in your good horse for a poor house cat, Set your saddle out for sale
Quotationsmore quotations »
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Come and see the old poet
Laying in his bed of ashes and dust,
His love in ruins
His mentality frozen by restless rust,
His hungry heart emptied of it's fertile blood
His souls melodic purpose nearly gone,
The mellifluous music now so silent
The end, of a once wonderful and powerful song.
What happened to this poet
With dread you may ask,
The ancient story ofcourse
The evils of age and wear, and so damned many things out there
Working away at his heart, fulfilling their wretched task.
When poets speak truth and beauty into this old ...