Innocence Lost

Come back to me
a memory where there was
the pureness of gaiety

smiling while running
traversing the fields
the empty lots

scrapes on my arm
my knees, hands
thanks for t-shirts

'Scar', my first American book
first drawing, 'the Virgin Mary'
my first love poem

warm shy gentleness
of a girls hand in mine
first cheek kiss

campfire, 'Sleepy Hollow'
showing off, guitar prowess
infatuation, my teacher, older woman

Beatle’s haircut, singer in a band
mixer with girls
Ahhh! Kiss on lips

sports, football quarterback
dating, sex (ooohhh)
cars

Vietnam War draft, Yuk!!!
fear, fear, carnage and Death
naivete, innocence lost

snob

entering into the realm of creative expression
is like entering a forest of wild flowers and fauna
the sentient artist steps carefully and observes
non-intrusively supplanting oneself in the wonderment

expressing through melody and instrument
or through word with rhyme
a canvas of colors
portrayed in a moment in time

the artist is the conduit
to the aesthetics of life
providing the human spirit
with momentary pleasures
interrupting mundane strife

but like other coteries
developed in societies
members become elitists
thinking themselves ’better’
creating their own pieties

skill-sets formed from academia
regurgitating strict paradigm
disavowing nontraditional line
of those choosing an unwillingness to rhyme
restrict creativity and new flowers blooming
in the forests of our children’s time

do not shun them
or ignore them
listen to their music
listen to the words
for all have something to say
keep eyes and ears open
all people are artists
and everyone must have their day

Ride a Nebulus Sky

gossamer wings ride the quiet wind
amidst the nebulae sky
hovers unheard unseen
the wind blows hard
it flounders
but stays adrift

all else below
seems anchored and stable
yet immobile, inflexible
doesn’t move in the wind
its vision limited
knows not what lies beyond

rules regulate
the physical limits
staying within the lines
a smile from the heart
breaks down borders

Life’s winds gust
press against my frail wings
gently I ride it’s angered might
I fear not it’s approach
I do fear being anchored

I smile while I ride the wind