Kevin's Watch

Woman

Don't say her skin is alabaster.
She's not some goddess
Standing cold and dusty
In an old museum.
She's warm and smelling of lilacs
Fresh from her bath.

Don't say her eyes are sapphires.
It is true they shine,
But from within;
Never artificially.
They are windows to her mind
Reflections of her soul.

Don't say her teeth are pearls,
Or her lips are rubies,
For these are mere stones;
Not precious enough to compare.
I know of nothing that is.

Don't even try to describe her.
Just remember that,
Created from Adam's rib,
She's second best, and second hand.
She's just a woman after all.

Trains

The trains divide my day into pieces
Like an uneven pie.
As I watch them from my window,
I wonder from where they come.
Maybe New Orleans with its imports,
Kansas City with its beef,
Maybe Detroit with its steel and plastic monsters.
Where do they go after they pass my curious gaze?
Santa Fe with its Indians, Phoenix with its tourists.
Or Los Angeles with its celluloid dreams.
I've tried to time these noisy dragons
But as yet I've not succeeded.
They just pass back and forth,
East and west, day after day.
Why is it trains have given us
An impression of freedom?
The tracks they must follow
Were laid down across a free land,
Interrupting and ceasing the life
Of the free men who rightfully owned it.
The trains must follow these well-worn paths
On a tight, unyielding schedule.
They cannot stop and admire
The beautiful country they race through.
They cannot take a byway if they so desire.
The products loaded on their backs
Must be delivered intact and on time,
Or it will disrupt our ordinarily well-ordered days.
The trains are not free,
And neither are we who depend on them.
This once wild country was conquered
By the smoke-snorting ancestors
Of these long, mechanical snakes.
Men who rode west, greedy for gold,
Stayed to enjoy the bounty of this new Promised Land.
This same bounty is still being
Shipped east for others to enjoy.
I don't mind waiting for a train to cross my street,
Or interrupt my sleep with it's lonesome whistle.
Where would we be without these trains?
From the car I drive to the food I eat,
I must thank the trains.
For, somewhere along the way,
The trains were involved.
So pass again, you lonely train
On your journey east or west,
and let me wonder idly where you're bound,
And wish you on your way.

The Desert

Sun shining over a breathless desert.
Together we walk, hand in hand.
Afraid to break the spell, we do not speak.

They call this "Devil's Country."
It's not true; this we know.
Here Nature is at her best; mysterious, quiet, inspiring.

We stand on a bluff
And gaze at the majestic beauty
Spread out in the valley below.

A hawk soars lazily overhead.
A snake slides noiselessly on the hard baked dirt,
seeking refuge in the shade of a mesquite.

A jackrabbit peers curiously about.
A cactus swallow busily prepares a nest
With bits of twig and a rare piece of string.

The sun sinks below the low-banked clouds
And sets them ablaze in a riot of color.
The desert sunset is God's palette.

The clean, dry air turns cold with the coming of darkness.
The stars shine above with a brilliance
Known only to the desert dwellers.

Refreshed, we return to the noisy, stinking city.
We know we can escape this steel and concrete prison
By returning to God's own garden, the desert.

Cages

All men are lonely
At one time or another.
Love and loneliness
Are not limited
By space or time,
By sex or age.
You have to know one
To appreciate the other.

A year ago
I was caged within my love.
Like an animal yearning to be free,
I paced impatiently,
And gazed beyond the bars.
I dreamed of the life
I could make for myself.
One day my keeper set me free -
Knowingly or not, I'm not sure -
And I set out to live my dreams.
But dreams are too fragile to be lived;
They can only be felt.
Loneliness is a better teacher
Than love.

Looking in the windows now,
At the lights and laughter,
Looking at the lovers
Sharing smiles and whispers;
I am a Peeping Tom of love.
And now I walk down the roads
Looking for another cage.

For My Prince

I was never fond of the sunrise before,
Sunset was more my thing.
But now, since you,
The contours and colors of the clouds
Remind me of what we've found.

Sunset is a mellow time
Something the day drifts into
Gently and inevitably.
A sunrise, though, is bright and new.
Each day dawning unexpectedly.
The hours waiting and wanting
To be filled with thoughts of you.

A miser of memories
I hoard them close.
God, grant me a chance soon
To renew my meager supply.
Let us live now - for our sunrises,
And for memories to be burnished
In the glow of sunsets eternal.

The Fort

The cannons stand like sentries;
Each frozen at his post; staring out to sea, waiting.
Prepared for an invasion that will never come again.
The barrels scarred and pitted from centuries of weathering
Storms and the small, probing fingers of endless children
Whose parents drag them hurriedly through; heedless
That to the children, untamed, uncivilized creatures,
This shrine is nothing more than a playground.

And shrine it is, at least to me.
Standing in the quiet chapel, I can almost hear the whispers;
Quick prayers said even as the cannons above their heads
Were being primed and loaded to face the well-armed galleons
Coming in from the sea, confident that no small fort
Could withstand their great strength or maneuverability.
Obvious to everyone it did, and does still.
Guarding the city against any invasion.

Some say the great walls are forbidding.
Standing tall and strong, keeping out even the greatest of foe.
But when I see them, they say to me, "Come in my child.
"Let me protect you and share my secrets of long ago.
"I'll tell you of great battles I've won. Great men I've seen.
"Kings and Princes, commoners alike, have come and died
"Defending me against all odds.
"The eras I've seen, each greater than the last.
"Come in. Come in, my child, and rest.
"Spend some time with me
"For time is all I am."

A Seagull and Me

As I watch her soaring high above,
I stretch my fragile wings.
She was born to fly.

In the beginning I was content
To cling to leaves and gorge myself.
I knew no other life.

By chance one day, I looked up
And saw her gliding past.
I was awed by her beauty
And envied her freedom.

Then, wonder of wonders,
She landed on my branch.
"Who are you to fly so high?
"To be free of the lowly earth?" I asked.

"I am but a seagull," she answered,
"But you, too, can be as free.
"It is up to each of us
"To make the most of what we are."

So I wrapped me up within myself.
A dark and lonely time it was, too.
Though she came each day
To watch over and encourage me.

And finally when rebirth came,
She rejoiced with me.
Now as I fly on my colorful wings,
I no longer envy her freedom.

Though as I look up again
And see her etched against the sky,
I am still awed by her beauty.
I thank her for my freedom
And for being my friend.

Amid The Gone Before

Cold crypts resemble temples,
Houses for the dead.
Headstones record a history
Otherwise forgotten.

The monuments of grief
Stand silent sentinel.
No changing of the guard
With changing seasons.

My favorite has an angel
With marble wings raised high
As if to offer shelter
To the dead long decomposed.

I must confess I linger there
More often than I should.
I know not who lies buried
Beneath those sightless eyes.

It really doesn't matter
And the angel doesn't care.
Hopes and dreams, all desire and woe
Laid to rest at journey's end.

Mourners rarely linger
Near the fresh turned earth for long,
Instead preferring to return
When grass and grief have covered
That open, awful scar.

No person I have ever met
Lies buried in this place.
I just search for quiet peace
Amid the gone before.

Holiday Poem

Holiday time again is here
With songs of Noel, a cup of good cheer,
Christmas trees bedecked with light,
Presents exchanged on this Holy Night.
Families together just for the day;
Everyone smiling, everyone gay.
A nip in the air, snow on the ground.
Soon we will pass the gifts around.
Smiles of pleasure and squeals of glee!
Anyone looking can easily see
That this is a house all filled with love
Blessed with a smile from One above.
Everyone now sits down to dine
On the very best food, the perfect wine;
All the best that money can buy.
They raise their voices to One on high.
Every year their prayer has been:
Peace on Earth. Good Will to Men.

Haven't read them all yet, but "Woman" and "Cages" I find intriguing and "real."

thanks for sharing. good work.

Thanks, Ladies! "Woman" is one of my favorites, and it seems only women "get" the irony in the last lines.... And "Cages" IS real. Written at the time from experience....

I have more Poetry, but I only posted those I feel are my better works.

I have no artistic talents in Art nor Music, but I do like to play with words.

Those are fantastic poems, Gryphon. More, please .

(And, hey, I got the irony in "Woman" immediately.....)

Ahhhh, Cambo, Thanks! You're a rare gem, indeed. If you "got" that poem, you'll "get" this one, too:



Everything I Am

Don't try to hold me,
For I am a rainbow from a prism
a piece of light and nothing more.

Don't try to catch me,
for I am a shadow, ever moving
sometimes here, sometimes not.

Don't try to know me,
for I am a cloud on a summer day
changing from moment to moment.

Love me, though, fragile as I am,
for I am as demanding as a newborn babe
craving love and tenderness more each day.

Love me, please, as long as time,
for I am here to love and be loved
and I will share everything I am.

Oh, I got that one, alright. That's beautiful.