The Gloom of Daylight

 

A woman’s look, turned  my eye, 

Plain, and soft as summer 

With a sweetness  barely touching  a tone of loneliness 

That blended it’s way into my heart 

So cruel of me with a smile, without a word 

To wander past and barely scrape away her need 

Matching only my smile to hers in passing.  

 Leaving the loneliness to smother her heart 

And turn her smile into yearning, 

Dulling the brightness in her eyes 

Giving only the remnants of a chafed smile

Then vanished  into the gloom of a lonely trail. 

Gone forever, still I feel her loneliness slicing through my heart.

The Coming of the Dawn

 

Your home becomes a prison when you lose your friends. 

When the creaky door closes and the fence of loneliness begins. 

No longer sunshine blooming high, across 

the clouds 

No calling of the whistling trees, when swirling  leaves abound  

In prison house no smiles, no laughter, no human sounds at all 

No one to tell the rising of the sun or when the night time falls 

Your friends, all of them lost, and silently gone 

No one to share your prison at the coming of the dawn. 

And soon you too will be gone in the darkness of the dawn.

Listen to the Wind

 

Feel soft fingers of wind

Brushing, teasing across your face, 

Twisting gaily through restless leaves 

Urging tassels of color into the air

Traipsing across the ground, rising

Falling past branches, dancing past trees 

Singing sweet notes, listen, listen! 

A whistling serenade

Charming, phantom voices  

Sweeping by, dancing, twirling

Through your hair, through the forest  

Voices of wind, whispering a promise 

We are alive and one with the world

Reading Books

 

Do you really read a book?

I wonder if you do 

Or just turn pages for a look. 

Reading leads to new places  

Down rambling roads 

Often to new times and faces 

Books can make you laugh out loud 

Others leave you breathless 

On new grounds or into clouds 

With new books you never know 

Where it goes

Warmth of sun or freezing snow 

I’m always reading a book or two 

Never knowing what I’ll find 

Some are joyous, some are blue 

They always take me somewhere new.

We Are the Waves

 

Oh, watch the waves, their rolling sounds

Whiteness at the break, turning, twisting 

Flowing, tumbling, such roaring they make

Carving their white way with crushing force

See our twisting lives spread before us

Bound and tossed like heavy waves

Ground and crunched on rolling sand

By sun and rain, swells and calms

Dwelt and scanned with petty moments

Raked by salt, brushed and polished by wind,

Our eager lives, lived and shaped by ripping sand.

Waves in the Sand

 

Gentle waves sweep against my feet

 

And continue a gentle sweep across the shore,

 

In a rhythm of grace that won a smile

Careless children, born of mother ocean’s womb, 

 

Teasing my toes with ceaseless, rushing voices, 

 

Chasing gulls that fly and meander here and there,

 

Their feathers, once soft and gray now 

 

Touched in tarnished silver by rays of sun

 

That splendid ball of fire, reaching down, to warm the Earth

 

And calm my beating heart, and carve away the darkness 

 

That bares the promise of new beginnings 

 

An orb so bright it shares a splashing chorus with the waves. 

 

Traveling on, I stroll in the warmth of the sand, 

 

Humming my song of blessed contentment.

 

 

Dreams Before Me

 

 

The ocean darkens to sapphire blue

 

And sun fades into clouds of gold

 

I linger in the wet, clinging sand, 

 

Listening to the whispering waves

 

And feel a warmth in my soul 

 

Unleashing the spirit of precious years

 

To spring before me, sparks of youth

 

Of love and friends that linger yet, 

 

Like the waves that never end.

 

I close my eyes

 

To see lost suns that warm my dreams. 

 

 

Oh Temptations

 

         

 

Temptations rest in lovely dreams

Of red and yellow flowers,

 

Spreading like the softest winds

Across the greenest fields

 

In nightfall comes such silvered

Moons, bearing goblets of wine

 

Anointed with all the pleasures, 

Begging to be savored

 

Golden chimes, ringing hearts, and

Whispers of love’s bounties.

 

Do you hear the whispers tuning in the wind,

Fanning clarion’s calls to love and life?

Leaves of Time

Now crackled brown and always drifting

With the breeze they tumble, sifting.

I love the leaves, that sing their story

Of summer days and all their glory,

 

When dark brown limbs gave birth to green

That fluttered gently in the breeze,

 

Then pass their time, so it is with us

Our sap now dried and turned to crust.

 

The leaves of time blow in the wind

Reminding us of now and then,

 

Of our summers, blessed with sun

Our limbs so strong and primed to run.

 

Seems long ago, the days so bright

Our once strong limbs withered in the night

 

Growing soft, and growing old

No longer thoughts of strong and bold.

 

And now we’re drifting with the wind

The leaves of life, the weathered limbs.

 

 

        William Stroud

I Have a Thousand Poems

 

I have a thousand poems suffering to get out

 

If only I could find the voice to cut and slice and shout 

 

To the heavens look at me 

 

I have visions you should see 

 

Of how I lived and loved and flew 

 

Through blissful clouds and storm clouds too 

 

And shook the earth with such a roar 

 

That woke the heavens as I soared 

 

Now the mighty thoughts have fled 

 

But sometime as I lie in bed 

 

I dream again of blue stretched skies 

 

And once again my spirits rise.

Marching On

 

Marching On

 

I hear the footsteps marching on

The drumbeats hollow, the band is gone

And yet the sun still roams the sky

It all seems very different now

The sun glows dimly, I don’t know why.

Leaves still rustle teased by breeze

Life should be the same to me

My heart still beats in silent measure

More and more each beat I treasure.

They passed unnoticed in my youth

Those sunny days all hid the truth

Of growing old of passing youth.

Life so full, embraced each day

Sleepy dreams blew cares away

Now clouds and clarity of youth pass on

The charm of night, the creep of dawn

All my lonely promises fade on

But footsteps heavy still march along.

 

Ah, New Orleans

 

Ah, New Orleans, that decrepit old whore!

 

A face rife with fissures and echoes of jazz,

The half forgotten jazz that plays to ghosts, 

With notes of a lost generation and whiskey

Flavored by sugary stagnation.

 

Sit ‘n a bar, dine on oysters, with yesterday’s 

Stale recipes and coagulated sauces.

 

The diners come to say they’ve been here.

Oh, yes, I’ve seen the Street Car Named Desire,

And don’t know Tennessee Williams.

And Bill Faulkner?  Who is he?

 

And never heard Louis or Al blow their

Dented trumpets or Pete his licorice stick.

 

The streets reek of tawdry bodies sick with lust

 And find romance a bothersome chore.

 

Oh, yes, a weak old whore, with cracked teeth

And dusty hair.  See how her rouge has faded

And her mascara creeps down her legs.

 

A ragged whore whose beauty is blighted

And cracked with age, her hair a dusty mop.

 

But, bring your money and your sex, the old 

Girl needs it.

Christmas Yearnings: A Poem by William Stroud

Christmas Yearnings

I have lived a gypsy life

Of here and there and seldom twice.

Across high peaks and valleys wide

Over beaches washed by tides.

I’ve made fast friends in my sojourns

And for you all my heart still yearns.

With mellow yearnings, windy swirls

As the past around me curls.

And oh my family, oh my friends,

I long to find you once again

Across the oceans’ great divides

You come to me on rising tides

And whisper softly what was then

Of times and places that have been.

Though some have passed and some remain

All together once again.

                        ---William Stroud, Christmas 2019