Head Down – poem

I have a guest blogger today. A friend since we were kids, John married my best friend, and writes his beautiful wife poems every year on Mother’s Day. He decided to write a poem recently just for the hell of it and I decided to post it today for the very same reason. I really like it, it’s a thoughtful snapshot of modern life. Any ideas for a title? I think Head Down.

 

Shallow slumber lying tight,

waiting for the morning light.

Never beaten by the clock,

always rising early.

 

Outside the city never sleeps,

always busy, jobs to keep.

Looking over buildings far,

another day has dawned.

 

Getting clothes on, rushing fast.

Yesterday now in the past.

Must be punctual, can’t be late.

The wolf’s already at the gate.

 

Headphones in, always walking.

Head down, never talking.

Who’s the stranger keeping pace?

Never again to see his face.

A friend you’ll never know.

 

On the train you fall asleep,

laptop leaning at your feet.

On and off the punters hop,

dare not miss their precious stop.

 

Now in the office at your post,

working hard so you can boast.

A meagre wage to live.

Screen is blinding, boss is whining.

So much pressure, but no complaining.

Sick of all the smirking smiles,

No one ever happy.

 

Five o’clock is much relief,

time to hit the busy streets.

Headphones in, always walking.

Head down, never talking.

I walked in the clouds today

I walked in the clouds today, I wish you could have seen it.

Seas of mist danced over the hills and I was in the sky.

The trees were shadows that my hands passed through.

The landscape reflected the heavens and I walked among both.

I was alone.

Never have I felt so together.

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They Long to Burn

I have such fire in me.
It makes my skin tingle.
I know they can feel it
And they long to burn.
Yet they would smother it
And I would become ash.
I try to control the flames
But they are not mine
And my gentle heart is no match.
So I dance with them
And I try to use their power
But to what end?

When Will I Be Free?

“When will I, oh when will I, oh when will I be free?”

 

“Free from what?”  The wise man said smiling pleasantly.

 

“Free from myself, I suppose” I said, doubting even me.

 

“Then who is left my darling child if you are free from me?”

 

“Not you old man but me” I said, “It’s me who wants to be free.

 

“But I am you and you are me and I am gladly free, so who is me that isn’t free if I know it is not me?”

It Couldn't Be Done

It Couldn’t Be Done

By Edgar Albert Guest 1881–1959

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
      But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
      Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
      On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
      That couldn’t be done, and he did it!
Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
      At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
      And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
      Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
      That couldn’t be done, and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
      There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
      The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
      Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
      That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

Did You Know That the Earth Can Dance?

Did you know that the birds dance to every piece of music that plays?

That the wind strums the leaves like fingers on strings in silent song?

Did you know that if you look you can see that the clouds are whispers of breath?

That the never ending blue sky is always there, like the space between the notes?

Did you know that if you sit still you can see the entire earth dance?

That every moment is a well timed step in an eternal living show?

The performance is life, the player is you and to play is the only purpose.

The Only Ones Who Are Truly There

Why do artists lay in bed and look to the moon?

Why do they sit on sand and listen to the breath of the ocean?

Or walk in the fields feeling the wind as it blows through the trees?

Why do they sit at the edge of a stream and watch the water shine like glitter?

Why do they sit on a step watching the shining of the stars in the sky?

Or sit in crowds watching people dance through life?

Could they be dreaming and escaping from reality?

Or are they the ones who are truly there, listening to the story of the world and capturing it in a million different ways.

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The Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge: Time for Poetry – Life's Eternal Song

When all has burned and flood and bled

hope but gone and faith but dead.

 

Will humans walk the earth no more

or haunt instead some other shore?

 

Will good be gone and peace have left

replaced by hate and hell instead?

 

Or is it all a passing wind,

sent by the universe to find

 

The light in dark and right in wrong

that plays out life’s eternal song.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/poetry/