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.

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

Melted Love

 

I loved her once, or maybe twice

 

Remembrances strain through the

Dust of tattered yesterdays. 

 

Even her breasts, her hips that twisted

Me through soft whispers, now gone.

 

Wings that fluttered turned limp and cold.

 

Perhaps I remember her face, but 

Now the smiles allude me.

 

The eyes so blue tossed love away

In sodden blinks of guile.

 

Covers of soiled snow, bypass the sun

With long-gone trickles of love.

 

Her breasts an icy glaze, lost in clumsy steps

Of melting snow.

I Do Not Know

 

I only know I do not know 

Touched by whispered murmurs 

Like butterflies in the sunshine

Trailing melodies on frayed cords 

Oh, that those cords were golden

Yet on I go on careless steps

With heart thumping reasons 

Trudging onward in muddy slush 

Ignorance beneath my feet.

Hope, my only companion,

A scatterings of my mind behind me

Yet on I trod with restless whims

The more I know, I do not know.

                                            

                           The painting above the Poem is by:

The Torment of the Soul

 

                                  Francisco Goya. 1746-1828

 

Creatures of the depth of time shred my slumber with their claws

Spewing boiling tar as I lay stricken by grind of their fearsome jaws.

 

Crackling tongues spew their venom, oh the putrid smell!

Oh, the wicked things that curl like all the snakes of hell!

 

They sing of all the multitudes who felt my cruel bent,

Coming back to torment me with devils they have sent.

 

Sweat turning into boiling oil and trickles down my back

Flashing scenes that shame me by all the good I lacked.

 

Riders on their flaming steeds, with hoof of red hot steel

Oh yes, the very worst of me I know will never heal

 

Far too late to sooth the past, my wickedness abounds

Devoid of hope, the rudder lost, my ship has run aground.

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?

Kleenex In My Pocket

 

 

Kleenex in my pocket

Brushed away the tears.

Scarlet threads of longing

Dress a canopy of fears

Once so bright and sunny

Love now spiced with dread.

As Solomon said long ago

Don’t try to raise the dead

Swim the rolling waves            

Trust the sun will rise

A future for the brave

Bring bouquets of flowers

And smiles your future craves.

Trivialities

  

Trivial, yes, in truth it’s waste of days and time and so,

We babble on, I wonder why, I blink my eye and although 

Baby powder’s so much cheaper at the grocer on the corner

Yes, of course, but don’t mind me, I am just a natural yawner.

 

Tell me won’t you, once again, why the Johnsons got divorced.

Yes, I’ve heard, but carry on, and fill in all details, of course.

Is it true that he’s a pig, a dreadful swine in every way?

I head it all from Charlene Chase, who meets for coffee everyday.

 

The doctor calls it canker sore, and claims it goes away quite soon

Read directions line by line, still it’s sore and almost noon.

Margaret had terrific moles, such unsightly little beasts

They’re black and sprouting hairs; she should cover them at least.

 

Yes, it’s how it comes and goes and clutters up my day

Listening to this and that and everything thing they say.

Such rude and selfish folks they are, hogging all the time,

With their ailments, and complaints, they leave no time for mine. 

 

 

 

 

Tired of Love

 

          I’m tired of love

          I’m tired of kisses

          Tired of sighs

          And wistful wishes

          Tired of beauties

          Young and old

           Long dark hair

          And smiles of gold

          And when I know

          I’ve had enough

          I see a smile that

          Calls my bluff

          Bright Blue eyes or brown

         Or gorgeous green

         That strike me down

         Love is so mean.

A Quiet Moth

 

Photo compliments of Linnea Tighe

Have you seen a quiet moth,

Close to where the oceans froth 

 

Lying still upon the sand

And why here has it chose to land

 

It could have picked a tall green tree

And flown away so easily.

 

Colored wings spread so wide

Surely it could rise and fly

 

I know that I too could fly

Or sit upon the sand to die

 

Ah, the choices, ah, the time

That flutters past, both yours and mine

 

And then the moth took to the wing

And soared aloft, a beautiful thing.

 

Oh, the courage and the thrill

Makes my heart soar. Always will.

 

 

 

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.

Rusted memories

 

She knelt  with ease on golden sand 

Blue striped towel, sweet, soft hands 

A dream I saw,  glimpsed in repose 

The stretching limbs, the pointing toes 

That aimed her beauty toward the sea 

The queen of all desires 

And all that love inspires

Those pining thoughts of used to be 

Her silken hair grown silver now

And wrinkles crease the once smooth brow 

Vision she was, a tortured thrill 

In floating clouds of memories still

That flit like fishes in the sea 

Oh, memories how  you comfort me 

Rusting thoughts when life was grand 

Treasured visions, sun blessed sand.

Following the Sun by William Stroud

 

 

When world was young and so were we

While summer’s sun warmed the sea

We lay on towels baked by sand

Tepid roots of love and then

 Grew by power of rushing waves

That crushed the shore and made us crave

The touch of hands, the touch of skin

Oh love was but a whisper then.

The salty breath, each sigh anew

Through passing hours of just we two.

Oh, lord those languid glory days

And good lord how I wish they’d stayed

But love like flow of tides may pass

The wilting time of summer’s grass

Sun a shadow in winter’s frost

A low sad whisper that love is lost.

The Triumph of Trivialities

 

The Triumph of Trivialities by William Stroud

Trivial, yes, in truth it’s waste of days and time and so,

We babble on, I wonder why, I blink my eye and although 

Baby powder’s so much cheaper at the grocer on the corner

Yes, of course, but don’t mind me, I am just a natural yawner.

Tell me won’t you, once again, why the Johnsons got divorced.

Yes, I’ve heard, but carry on, and fill in all details, of course.

Is it true that he’s a pig, a dreadful swine in every way?

I head it all from Charlene Chase, I meet for coffee everyday.

The doctor calls it canker sore, and claims it goes away quite soon

Read directions line by line, and still it’s sore and almost noon.

Margaret had terrific moles, such unsightly little beasts

They’re black and sprouting hairs; she should cover them at least.

Yes, it’s how it comes and goes and clutters up my day

Listening to this and that and everything thing they say.

Such rude and selfish folks they are, hogging all the time,

With their ailments, and complaints, they leave no time for mine. 

My Life No Longer Mine

  

My life, my life no longer mine.

A ship that’s lost on stormy seas,

Now howling, raked by winds of time.

 

No longer sails in sunlight bold,

The dark of night rules long my sky.

Each morning yields the winter’s cold.

 

My rudder’s splintered, spit and broken

My hopes awash and left forlorn

Now rocky shoals yield fate unspoken.

 

My life is tossed on angry waves

Soaked by whims of careless tides

Ever closer to the grave.

 

No longer sweet the moon lit nights

No longer smooth the voyage ahead

My life now tastes of salty brine.

My life, my life no longer mine.

*****************************

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She Was A Woman That I knew

 

She was a woman that I knew,

When I was young 

And she was younger.

A blur of love or maybe less.

Infatuation colors the minds of the young

Bright streaks of scarlet, hues of gray

And everyday a new rainbow.

And sorrows piled high in the shiny

Barrow of the young.

Her eyes so blue, her face a mask

Of beauty and smiles,

That touched my heart 

And rested in my needs. Oh, yes! 

A summer swim in sun so bright

It burned the imagination,

And water so cool even the air glistened

Hello my darling.

Goodbye my love.

And now that I am old, 

Near forgotten love

Bends me to the days 

When I was young

And she was younger.

Dark Shadows

 

Love of life is dark, unsettled

Twisted florals, wilted petals

 

Sharpened edges, rusted, dulled, 

Carve no more a day that’s full.  

 

And all my races won and lost, 

Bleak tomorrows, fading ghosts.

 

Unkempt plans keep hope at bay. 

Tattered garments, threads that fray, 

 

And yet the sunrise comes again.  

That too will cease, I know not when. 

 

Insouciant nature tells no lies, 

He who lives also dies.

********************************

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Love and Lust

 

Lust crept in with tiger claws

 when I was in my youth.

Simple and uncomplicated, 

yet lacking shades of truth.

Love ignores lust’s clumsy growl

and saunters on soft paws

But youth bends rules and common sense

and fast embraces claws. 

Lust and love, such  different strains,

yet often are confused,  

And when they’re paired in youthful minds,

love will likely lose. 

For it’s a sweet and tender rose, 

still growing on and on

While lust has but a measured life

and  falters with the dawn. 

Lust owns pleasures

brightly glowing, 

While love creeps up

without your knowing, 

But if I dare

to tell the truth,  

I greatly miss

the claws of youth.

********

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Christmas Now is Just a Day

 

My Christmases have vanished, gone

Scattered through the shards of time

Boyhood dreams all turned to dust

And pleasures turned to rust.

 

Yet memories skate through my mind

Surprises of the Christmas morn

Laughter’s echoes, delights that were

All now faded and hopes a blur.

 

All the children now are men

And have their own lives to live 

And in their eyes just pity now

For wrinkles on my ancient brow.

 

Christmas? Never more for me,

No little voices, no tiny hands

No early rise, in bed I lay 

Christmas now is just a day.