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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

If I Could Breathe – Draft #2


 

If I could breathe,

I’d tell you everything.

If I could breathe,

I’d do it all.

 

Everything’s gonna

be alright now.

If I can breathe,

I’ll work it out.

 

If I could breathe,

I’d take it all in.

Learn to sail about.

Maybe I’d even

learn the Cha-Cha.

I think I could

Figure it out.

 


 

-Jack Lhasa

Always Listening.

(Josh Owens, proud son of Dennis W Owens, RIP)

 

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Step the morning,
blue and bright.
The pines sway softly
beckoning the breeze.
Mad with the ecstasy
of you, the world
comes alive.
In color and form,
creation exalts the sun
with tanned-skin beauties.

—-

Jack
I Listen.

Poetry
Summer

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Red Wine

The spirit is
sweet and warm.
A tawny red
flashes from
bottle to glass.
Red, like the
tint of my
brightest memories.

—-

Jack.
I Listen.

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Free the reins
on the broken steed.
Let lose the ropes
around your ankles.
When will is lost,
chains are redundant.

Chains, ropes, reins,
a saddle for the steed.
The man chained to the wall
is already on his knees.

We walk with morning,
glory lost.
Emancipated,
but never sanctioned
with our own sovereignty.

No release,
No rest,
No right,
that was not learned
in captivity.

Freedom in his Kingdom,
the Animal Supreme.
Liberty of the Mind,
the Slave might be a King.

—————————

first draft, no edits or proofing yet. I’m sure it will get better with time.

-Jack
I Listen.

Poetry
Hammers & Hatchets

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Moving a lot of my poetry and fiction over to scribd, where it will be collected in anthologies, if it proves successful. Check out my profile there.

Jack
I Listen.
Aside.

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Life is not life.
You are so much more.
Your light is my smile.
In the grass, we sit,
playing young lovers games.
You fill my dream with desire.
God is no name.
Not for a lover.
Not for a friend.
I am yours.
The wind blows
through our hair,
and speaks to us;
Saying your name,
over and over.

-Jack
I Listen.
Poetry.

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Surprise! This one’s actually worth reading, I think.

—-

Fallen from grace,
glance, the angel!
Not knowing what
knocked her down.

“Things do tend
to fall,” she thought.
“Unless, of course,
they know when to fly.”

—-

Jack
I Listen.

Poetry

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