Biography of Vaughn Wood
“Who am I, you ask? ”
I am a narrative in the making,
A happy ending not yet told;
A plot unapologetically thickening,
An unedited pagination in bold.
I am a breath worth breathing,
Escaping death with each blow;
Avoiding over speculating
When the last one will flow.
I am faith in motion,
More enlightened via the personal
Than stage-like public spectacle.
I am desire, craving daily to be known,
Not forced into isolation to venture alone;
But absorbing each new sunrise and sunset
Providing the gift of another day for riveting embrace.
I am a friend worth having;
A reliable man worth confiding.
Gratefully ineligible to adjudicate,
In the now, fearlessly merciful.
I am honesty’s new best friend,
A quest for truth continually probing;
A current of transparency untainted,
Longing for a nonjudgmental landing.
Vaughn Wood Poems
Who Am I?
“Who am I, you ask? ” I am a narrative in the making, A happy ending not yet told;
The Worst And Best Day Of My Life
Not many days hold the power of such parody, Where reflection bids a respectful bow. Catastrophic at first glance, A single day full of heartbreaking events.
It’s not too often you get a moment with one so wise Wisdom appears in many shapes and colors But one must be careful So do lies
Fluidic Red With A Punch
Parched lips are the result of a conversation needed. But honest feelings shared go down like soured wine,
The old man whittled a point on a stick he found nearby. Worry had been a lifelong companion and now he was wondering why.
The Unwelcomed Guest
Your stench is that of an unwelcomed guest Unseen nightly, yet clandestinely Hiding underneath my bed.
Professing to be wise With mouth wide open Elaborating details Yet barely alive
The moment I laid eyes on it I knew there is life beyond this grave. I was not meant to be restrained by my own lament.
The Wait Kills The Man
The wait kills the man; A necessary death nonetheless, Leaving him unanswered, Sensationally demised.
Signed Sealed Delivered
The negotiators have gone silent Now only ink need be applied Like blood covering sin’s demise Hard to believe a tree ceased to exist
The old man whittled a point
on a stick he found nearby.
Worry had been a lifelong companion
and now he was wondering why.
Time seemed to have disappeared
in a vacuum of good intentions.
Now old, arthritic, alone, and silenced,
memories only, sustain his sharp intuition.