Soothing Rain

 

 

Bring forth the sweet and gentle rain

To hide the sun and ease my pain

Another gift from heaven’s store

Ah, yes and yes, I value more

These easy days that help forget

The wounds of love that linger yet.

 

The mystery in her gray blue eyes                

The magic in her wistful sighs, 

Tender lips that float through dreams

The warmth that never fades it seems

Smiles that sheltered sweetest lies

Then twists a heart with her goodbyes

 

Trust the rain to heal my heart

And rust the loss now we’re apart

Let rain announce sunshine again

Though love has vanished, until when

Another tender smile appears

To blow away the crush of tears.

 

 

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

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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Some Days I Just Don't Give a Damn

Some Days I Don’t Give a Damn

I’ve been good

And eaten what was green and good,

But never touched the deep hunger

And made me dwell on food until

I finally ate a chewy chocolate chip

That ripped that craving right off the wall .

I read a best seller that

Called to me, just as wet paint calls

An itchy finger, then cursed as I wiped it off

And wish someone had put a sign

On that book that read, bestseller my ass.

I got my exercise.  I skipped

My lunch for it. My knees ache

And creak like an old rocker.

My stomach says to me, I told you so.

The knees beg me to buy a motorcycle,

Ride it like a demon on bicycle trails

And scare the crap out of the arrogantly

Young with legs and muscles of iron.

Instead, I’ll buy a bucket of

French vanilla at the organic store

For the eternally thin, and decorate a

Ceramic bowl of it with dark shavings

From a hard chocolate bar and

Healthy nuts to prove I’m not all bad,

And sweetened whip cream to prove

I can be.  It’s an edible work of art,

Abstractly delicious and fattening for

A good cause that donates proceeds to

Starving children in a land where ice cream

Does not grow.

And I like the taste, but I shouldn’t,

But I do.

Later on I’ll think deep and hard and

Solve no problems and give advice

To no one.  And go for another walk

To atone for the ice cream, and carry

An old lady’s brown paper grocery sack

To her car and stay the hell out of her way

When she forgets I’m there and backs up.

I’d do more, but some days I just

Don't’ give a damn.

Saying I Love You

Saying I Love You

A woman at the entryway studiously

Scrawls my name in curled black letters on

The milky pages of a dull green ledger,

To mark my visit to the banks of

The River Styx.

Metal wheelchairs rattle by,  

Perfumed by unnamed sprays and tablets and gases

That change a summer’s day into a chilled noxious

Blend of hell’s sulfur and acridity.

The people in the chairs, mothers and fathers,

Grandmothers and grandfathers stare blankly

As they ride. Solo passengers on a train of history, with

Cars unhitched and cargo long forgotten.

Hallways, bright and narrow as soft yellow funnels

Guide me where I never want to go.  I step aside

For medicines and juices that roll past

On shiny sliver carts, with squeaky

Wheels, alive with the rhythms of hollow days

And sleepless nights.

A nurse nods, her professional aplomb

And perfunctory smile lack encouragement

For conversation.  My heart rides heavy in my

Chest.

Nurses and attendants crowd a counter.

A coterie, controlled by white faced

Boards, scribbled in blues and greens and

Reds, of times and doses.

If I asked, they wouldn’t tell. Trust issues.

Privacy issues in this warehouse of secrets,

And forbidden knowledge, written in a language

I don’t understand and can’t decipher.

His room is three doors down on the left.  A withered

Man in a body that once held strength, a face that

Faced the enemy and never blinked, that loved

And was adored.  All gone now, the days

Of his calendar blotted out except for medicinal

Notations.

Yellowed fingernails, once smartly trimmed

And shined and polished. Disheveled strands of

White and gray that haven’t felt a comb in days. A

Face so gaunt I blink in wonder.

He greets me with dark, empty eyes, black pools

That cannot smile or understand. This man

Who brought me life and saw me through the storms

No longer knows my name.

I am a stranger, one of many who walks into his room

And speaks strange words.

This man whom I have loved forever, the shadow of

The man who used to be, a man who needs my help

When I have no help to give.

“Hi, dad.”  He only stares.

                                   

                                                ------William Stroud