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12/06/2008
12/05/2008
11/28/2008
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11/01/2008
10/21/2008
10/15/2008
9/19/2008
Ego Eyes
A mirror image piece of mind I seek; a shade of deepest shadow that I might portray the picturesque from pots of bleak; construct the bright of day from dark of night. In hiding from my self-inflicted pain; I tuck away the truth; I would protect the cloth of my umbrella from the rain; my fragile self from trial by retrospect. A self-protective sheath, I realize… a double-cross entrendre, metaphor would o¬nly serve to catch my ego eyes and focus on the pain I would ignore. I seek a way to die yet live in death; a blade to take my life but not my breath. © Copyright 2004 Wayne D. Neighbors |
9/18/2008
Crystal
| Refracted by the lens of time, the memories appear; that eyes may hold them up to view; that hearts may hold them dear. These images of a rainbows lost; of sunshine through the rain; the mind will calculate the cost; the soul will gauge the pain. The beauty of a broken past the heart will hold, in truth… the rest will fade, as distant storms; as does the flush of youth. |
7/13/2008
Wages
“In timeless magic, lofty trees don blankets made of virgin snow…” This imagery is sewn to please in ways that only poets know. Inquire of nature, “What’s the time?” and watch the day sink into night, but hear the image in a rhyme and see without the need for sight. For life and love and beauty’s sake, at banquets spread in poets minds, of metered sweetness men partake in verses of the many kinds. What then could poet’s wages be but joy and peace… and sanity? . |
Another Path to Sundown
| Another path to sundown; the cowboy rubbed his back and thought, with love, of rum relief tucked safely in his pack. Thoughts, wistfully, of father tread lightly through his mind; of going home to dash or prove the truth of what he’d find. On reaching the arroyo he reined a weary mount and, from his vest, took out to read his mother’s grim account. Another path to sundown though prudence can advise the prodigal who rules the soul will call with distant eyes. In natures own cathedral, beneath the milky way, he made a vow to reach his home before another day. Another path to sundown; the peace for which he’d yearned; he wasn’t home and yet he was the prodigal returned. |
Axle
Time is many wheels, revolving slowly,
along a central spine;
an axle. Is it accident or holy,
this universal line?
The stars exist in circles never-ending,
arrayed in common space.
The paradox? The view of time depending
upon the viewers pace.
The Earth, with her companion, forms an axis;
an ordinary wheel.
Man, and this is where the parallax is,
has pride enough to feel...
that time and space revolve around his need;
the need to understand.
And, strangely, time now seems to be. Indeed…
unfolding as if planned.
along a central spine;
an axle. Is it accident or holy,
this universal line?
The stars exist in circles never-ending,
arrayed in common space.
The paradox? The view of time depending
upon the viewers pace.
The Earth, with her companion, forms an axis;
an ordinary wheel.
Man, and this is where the parallax is,
has pride enough to feel...
that time and space revolve around his need;
the need to understand.
And, strangely, time now seems to be. Indeed…
unfolding as if planned.
7/05/2008
Sweet Abyss
That life will run this unrelenting pace
until the final syllable of time
does not, by any trial or judgment, place
an urgency on this bouquet of rhyme
that re-declares my love; that would describe
the sweet abyss that slowly drew me in;
the amber liquid love I yet imbibe;
the kiss of life that dares me, kiss again.
until the final syllable of time
does not, by any trial or judgment, place
an urgency on this bouquet of rhyme
that re-declares my love; that would describe
the sweet abyss that slowly drew me in;
the amber liquid love I yet imbibe;
the kiss of life that dares me, kiss again.
When life with you is over; verses read.
When words no longer form within my soul.
When light has gone and all is dark instead,
my love will yet remain as ever, whole--
as long as lives the power of the quill;
as long as there is verse and longer still.
7/02/2008
3/27/2008
3/22/2008
3/21/2008
12/28/2007
Drink of Life
| My planned spontaneity doesn’t surprise; my rose colored glasses don’t cover my eyes but all of that matters so little. It’s true because of the fortunate presence of you. We’ve matching insanities, perfectly synched we stare and we stare then together we blink Compatible vices, no reasons to hide with hearts on our sleeves we will stumble in stride. When life gives me lemons, I know what to make, I’ve gallons and gallons, I’m filling a lake. And wasn’t it fortunate, nearly a sin that I should meet one to whom life would give Gin. |
11/28/2007
Walter Murray
SO...Murray had a mark on his head; shaped like a "W" or an "M" depending on your perspective.....or was his real name "Walter"... I honestly don't remember. |
The Oldest of One
I’m the youngest of seven, the oldest of one,
a paradox past understanding;
the oldest of five that I wed on the run
while fleeing the market street landing.
I’m naked, inside, as the eyes of a clown
and cannot believe what I've told you…
but such as this can’t keep the tongue in me down
my ignorance needs to enfold you.
© Copyright 2006 W.D. Neighbors
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