BACK ALLEYS

 

In back alleys of the mind,

Ghosts are found in there,

They haunt through memory …

Walk hallways of despair.

Some say they see them dance,

They laugh, as if a joke,

The mind games played up there …

Are sick enough to choke.

The color black seen rein,

As if there were no yellow,

The ghosts, they run amuck …

The mind can hear them bellow.

What games I see them play,

They stir up thoughts benign,

And couch deep in the corners …

These ghosts not claimed as mine.

They run at sight of light,

Hide deeper in the mind,

In dormancy they hide …

Within subconscious mind.

Dancing to the rhythm

Of thoughts again replayed,

The ghosts laugh as they dance …

To an old-time serenade.

The alleys dark and bleak

Where lanterns are shut out –

The lights' not wanted there …

To darkness are devout.

When light is seen to spread,

The ghosts drag out old tapes,

They play them round and round …

Thoughts brined in sour grapes.

The rotten smells ignored,

The ghosts in reverie,

They play their heartless games …

On you, and yes … on me.

SO HEARTS DON’T SHATTER

 

Dwell in a world desensitized,

Ills hidden by closed eyes,

To see and feel the things in depth...

Brings sorrow to the wise.

The ones who know and dare to see,

Have read what it would be,

Have known the world will know no peace...

They've read the Lord's decree.

Too painful for the heart and mind,

We close in part within,

Half-frozen in our will to feel...

Eyes blocking out man's sin.

We watch the heart of man grow cold,

Each day we feel the chill,

We see men die, hear babies cry...

And wonder at God's will.

If it should be, hearts sensitized,

We'd see each shattered piece,

For not a one could stand the pain...

Nor from it find release.

It's in defense, this frozen state,

Protection from it all,

Too great the sorrow for the heart...

The writing on the wall.

THE COLD OF HEART

 

What injury inflicted

Causes heart to grow cold…

What happens in life

To make it grow hard?

Are the scars hid from eyes,

Buried deep down within…

Too painful to love,

For heart’s filled with pins?

When tears are not shed,

But stay buried within,

Does the heart drown…

Or can the heart swim?

Where do the shards go,

Each shattered piece,

When the heart is broken...

Do tears bring release?

Can love warm the cold,

Melt a heart that’s frozen…

Could you one day be one…

One of the cold of heart?

IF TODAY WERE YESTERDAY

 

I’d lope across the open meadows,

Like a colt with mane in sway,

Sun casting warmth upon my back…

If today were yesterday.

My heart be seen with gaiety,

My hair with small bouquet,

Eyes sparkling bright with newfound love…

If today were yesterday.

You would find me in dreamland,

Youthful mind would be at play,

Romantic fantasies be weaving…

If today were yesterday.

My heart would sing aloud,

Nowhere be found the color gray,

Springtime in me causing joy…

If today were yesterday…

If today were yesterday.

THE BALL IS OVER

 

There once was magic spun in dreams,

When fairies danced, and dresses swirled,

But that was back when men still waltzed

And girls believed in Romeo.

Glass slippers left with women’s lib

And unicorns were left to wander…

And, now, I’ve lost the will to vision,

Rainbow skies and calming seas.

Once I laughed and once I cried,

But that was when I still had life.

Now stoically, I sit and wonder…

When, exactly, did I die?

THE JUNK

 

Three dimes and four nickels,

Would buy me her junk…

Five half used pencils

And ten broken crayons.

She’d throw in a ball

And a tablet of paper,

These treasures she’d sell me…

For just fifty cents.

But now came the hard part,

To convince my mama…

That her junk was worth it,

For just pocket change.

I did not know then,

That it also would buy

A pound of ground meat

Or four loaves of bread.

“But, mama, it’s worth it,”

She’d hear me beg,

“It’s just fifty cents

and really is worth it.”

She’d dig in her purse

And hand it to me,

My daddy’s earned nickels,

His hard-working dimes.

I purchased the junk

And walked away smiling -

My loot in a bag.

My friend shared her bounty,

And I skipped on home,

Her junk now my treasure,

And it was all mine,

And barely cost nothing…

Three dimes and four nickels.

MOSTLY STRANGERS THERE

 

The old have gone beyond,

The ones that I knew best,

And now there’s left the young,

With babies on the breast.

All strangers, one and all,

Few faces that I know,

This is my old hometown,

The place I seldom go.

The ones I babysat,

I see with balding heads,

The years have stolen them…

My familiar threads.

The small church remembered,

Is nearly just the same,

Except for a facelift,

Its memory still claim.

I see changing landscapes,

New faces on the block,

I see the passing time…

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Not even my mother,

Do I see now the same,

For time is a stealer…

And alone is to blame.

I go in memory,

To my home these days,

Where all remains the same…

And nothings’ gone ablaze.