Sea Shell Salad

Mother Sea, you've carved the land,
with fine strong fingers and a steady hand. 
Your fathomless beauty lures the hearts of men,
Who challenge you just to die in then end.
Your power is overwhelming and infinite.
Yet, you wave at me- grinning bubbling contempt.

A wave whispers in my ear,
telling me things I don't want to hear.
Soft bubbles babble with the land where I live.
Patient  erosion of my refuge from foam.
Mother Sea, womb of life, always breathing,
always alive.  You coax at the downfall of man.

So soft and cold, heartless and mighty,
In awe I respectfully fear your strength.
I reach deep for courage to face you from within.
but know better that all this is in vain,
Countless times I've tried to reach you.
Trials and errors.   You take my breath away.

Yet still my stance is so slow to change.
I climb your mountains to be drowned in avalanche.
I cut your face, you slap me in powerful revenge. 
And Yet I continue alone in this unifying quest ,
To be at at one, in balance with your power,
Rested in communion with perfection.

I long to see inside you heart.
To understand motherhood's' art.
But I cling to my soil:  a homesick child,
Hoping to yet one day toy with your power.
I persist to struggle towards your outrageous call,
Oh, when it comes to power, you are the original.  
         

-dp-
2-21-83 / 3-10-13
          

Going Home

I'm going back to my home to town,
The city is bringing me down.
So many people in such a hurry,
I can't  keep hanging around.

I'm going to find me a used car,
The subway just don't go that far.
Throw all my junk in the back seat and trunk
leave all my worries in "park".

I'm going to quit my job.
I'm going to lose the mob. 
I'm going to hit the road.
I'm going to get back home.

I'm going to breath only fresh air,
And let the sun bleach my hair.
Wear overalls, get dirty and all,
Driving my tractor out there.

I'm going to work off these soft hands.
Make my life right off of this land.
I'll till the earth and watch it give birth,
And only reap what I plant.

Going to get some sun.
Going to have some fun.
Going to grow my hair.
Going to play it fair.

I'm going back to my old girl,
Bring her a necklace of pearls.
Buy her a ring and we'll live happily,
And then bring some life to this world.

We're going to live in this small town,
Spend our spare time just fooling around.
Me and the wife will be rocking all night,
And wake up with the break of dawn.

Yeah, I'm going home.
Going to write some poems.
Going to lend you a hand.
Going to act like a man.

-dp-
(c)  1-18-83 / 2-27-13   

DREAMS

A song of love has cleared the sky.

Another smile has stopped a cry.

Tomorrow won't be the same,

as another day,

is yesterday.


There are smiles and there are laughs.

There are memories from the past.

In time these stories bend,

as in the end

all wounds mend.


A broken dream is a twist of fate.

A thought that stayed up too late.

Our lives are built upon our dreams,

in a fantasy

we never quiet see.


To find a dream takes a good night's sleep.

Finding the means takes another week,

but if your dreams come true,

as sometimes they do,

that's good for you!


Follow your dreams and not another's.

Sleep well and warm under your covers.

And when dark night invades,

don't be afraid

of all you've made.

-dp-

12-17-82 / 2-9-13

Nursery Politics

 Two monkeys lead the way,
   bickering and fighting all the day.
Never saying anything new,
   never deciding what to do.
Oh why won't they tend to our country needs?
Oh why must I wonder what they mean?

Should either one possibly win,
   it's still nothing but a sin.
How they pretend to be so clever
   as they bable of whatever.
It seems they're on a T.V. show,
complicating issues with what they don't know.

The winner gets a white house,
   the loser goes back to the house.
Then we won't hear from them
   until the four year runs set in.
Once again their promises  will fly like sparks,
reminding us all who's in the dark.

-dp-   
12-5-82 / 3-8-13

Class to Class

The teacher's lecture still goes on,
his words reeking hypocrisy.
He's speaking to the podium
of regulated society.
His heart isn't in his lesson,
he's payed to pretend to teach.
I'd rather not have to listen,
but I'm told I need this degree.

Minutes pass by like they're hours,
and the class seems to last for days.
It's a taxing trial of ours,
to listen, when we don't want to stay.
The only way to learn of life
is letting our eyes take a look.
There are only queations inside
the teacher's big answer book.

Then, finally, the bell rings.
I pick up my books from the floor,
down the stairs my body sings,
quickly dashing out through the door.
I come outside to the open air,
just outside the law building.
I find a tranquility there,
in outdoors open setting.

I sense the greenness of the grass,
seeking the wisdom of the trees.
I can experience at last
that this is where my life should be.
With deep blue sky apove my head,
I've so manyquestions to ask.
Joining fellow students up ahead,
we all sense an important task.

-dp-         
12-4-82

Mark Twain

The Mississippi River will always
   run its muddy course,
But white paddle boats have cried
   whistles of remorse,
Mourning black pillowed smoke
   for mustached men gone ashore.
The pilot house is empty now,
   the paddle's muddy wake is no more.
The old oaks ashore given way
   to small hamlets and progress.
Haunted plantations have seen there day
   but for those memories you've left.

Above the dust of Jackass Gulch
   the sun will always shine.
Blue-jays shout their cackles still
   casting nonsensical rhymes.
In the valley where camp was
   the center for our folklore,
The miner's pan full of gold dust
   is not so commonplace anymore.
The mountainside's face is gray
   today's travelers takes to the air.
When you left us in those early days,
   you took horse buggies and county fairs.

Our memories of history
   were your author's toil,
But now history and humor
   are saved on celluloid.
Pen, pad, and printer's press-
   now out dated by video.
But your writings and humor are
   after a century: remarkable!
When San Francisco fell and died
   You followed Haley's tail wither.
For nearly a hundred years we've tried,
   but no one since has matched your humor.

-dp-
(c)12-3-82 / 3-4-13                 

MOVING

The time has come when you feel mature.
It's time for you to leave mother bird.
Once you were homesick, but now sick of home.
The time is right for you to be on your own.

Let your folks know what you plan to do.
You'll be surprised when they're proud of you.
They'll probably even help you move out.
Then when you're packed, you'll start having doubts.

Finding things you'd forgotten you had-
Old magazines, pencils and pads.
Old warped singles you give to your brother,
With paraphernalia you had hid from mother.

Broken furniture you'd meant to fix.
All the projects you left unfinished.
There just wasn't time for your intentions.
The excuses you had aren't even mentioned.

Don't worry if some things must go to waste.
It's only a start that you can taste.
Every interest will seek foundation.
With Good Will castaways find salvation.

Out with the old and in with the new!
Let yourself grow when you start to move.
Now all of your dreams can hatch and take wing.
The freedom you'll find will mean everything.


-dp-
11-27-82