On Hold

Is writing worth it? Do my poems matter?

Will publishing another failure make me sadder?

Why put time into something I love if it never becomes a real thing?

I can keep my head in the water above but my body’s still swimming upstream.

The life I have now is already enough. I won’t die if I give up my dreams.

Adding an accolade would only be fluff when I’m already stretched at the seams.  

Is it really giving up if I never commit?

Is my self published work way too much to omit?

Do you really climb a mountain if you never summit?

When every day life keeps you down; you submit?

At what point does desire transform into action?

You strive and aspire to grow beyond faction.

You’re looking for a buyer, spread of word, and some traction.

But lighting that fire is all but a fraction.

Passion is rarely all it’ll take

And effort can barely preserve what’s at stake.  

You need motivation to keep up the drive.

A little inspiration to keep it alive.

But nobody knows to ask you about You.

Your back burner still is kept hidden from view

Until someone wanders across what you do,

And asks you when they can get something new.

Can you really tell them how it’s all on hold?  

How you wish you were driven but you’ve never been bold.

How your last four projects were all but out sold

How you’re feeling your dream is just childish and old?…

Maybe their intrigue was all that you needed?

Your love for your work may not be conceded

Effort and energy may not be depleted

Take one hint of hope and be not defeated.

Contentment is Learned

Life is as good as you make it.

But those who have it better than us fake it.

Because, good is a matter of perspective.

My life and yours are not respective.

Life is a series of decisions.

But most of us have different visions.

Because choices change by the seasons,

My life and yours are for different reasons.

So don’t get your hopes up, but keep contentment ready.

So when someone cuts your ropes up, your mast can hang in steady.

We’re all just lost at sea, where some of us float better than the rest.

But learning to swim is free, so kick your feet and paddle your best.

When the Injured Bird is Heard

It was late in the spring with the clouds drizzling

On a cold rainy day in the middle of May

When a bird tapped my window with something to say.

I opened the window to hear the bird talk

And could tell as he entered, he struggled to walk

I noticed his limping and knew he was hurt.

He also was dripping and needed a shirt.

“I don’t like the wind and rain!”

The young bird whimpered in pain.

“It’s difficult to fly so I stopped in a tree,

But the branch wasn’t dry so my grip slipped free.

I toppled right over to the branch right beside,

If I didn’t have wings I’d surely have died.”

I patiently listened while the bird told his story,

Then hastily told him to no longer worry.

“The rain can’t last long, for the sun will come back.

But stay here till it’s gone and we’ll both have a snack.”

He lifted his head and gave me a smile:

“Why thank you my Friend! I’ll stay for a while.”

With fruit in my hand I gave him the seeds.

With a toothpick and band I tended his needs.

I fashioned a cape to drape on his wings

So he could stay warm in the rain while he sings.

I ended up spending the day with my Friend

Till the sun went down and the day had to end.

So eventually my Friend had to leave me alone,

To return to his tree with a home of his own.

But I promised him shelter in all types of weather

And to show me his thanks my Friend left me a feather.

Winter’s Fall

Remember then when I took your hand,

In November when we walked again,

Through vineyards and the orchard lands.

I wished my friend, it would never end,

And it hasn’t.

See, we are still walking if you can imagine it. 

You asked me where we were going, 

Following without knowing…

I didn’t have a clue.

So to you,

That night, I told ya:

“Wherever the left leads the right, and vise versa.”

When leaves fall from my heart, may they take me to your soul.

Because this Fall I fall for you, my Autumn Tree, my Doll. 

Moreover then, around the bend,

In December when we’ll walk again,

Through snow storms and the winters wind.

I hope my Friend, it’ll never end,

And it wont. 

There is always room to fear, but I don’t. 

You’ll ask me what I’m thinking

Peaking, blinking, speaking..

I’ll reply, shy:

“This is all my dreams are made of, 

This Journey, with you, my Love.”