She Spoke to Me

I came upon a weeping lass; I said, “Come speak to me,”
She spoke to me of one she loved, a young man dressed in green,
She spoke of one who went to war, to right some wrongful deed,
She spoke of him who lost his life, would not be home again,

She spoke to me of memories, of love that still remained,
She spoke to me of hopes and dreams, of all that might have been,
She spoke to me of futures lost, I listened silently,
I listened to her quiet voice, I listened patiently,

Her eyes were filled with sorrow; she spoke with deep-felt pain,
I wanted to relieve her hurt; my efforts were in vain,
I wrapped my arms around her; I held her close to me,
I said good-bye and left her there, to think of loss – and weep.

© 052505 Petit Poet

Youthful Memories

Treasured memories of youthful years,
Trusted friends, comfort and cheer,
Times that we shared are times I revere,
Stored in my memory all through the years,

Tender first love, so heartfelt, sincere,
Soft stolen kisses, sensitive tears,
Moments with you are times I hold dear,
So long ago, yet still seem so near.

© 051505 Petit Poet

Her Mirror

Her mirror showed her royalty and elegance and care,
Her face was made-up perfectly; her dress was haute couture,
Tiara jewels sparkled in her formally styled hair,
A shiny chain around her neck, a sparkling solitaire,

Her evenings filled with Mozart, and gaiety, an air
Of beauty and enchantment and laughter everywhere,
Young gentlemen availed themselves and flocked around her chair,
She waltzed with lively vigor, and a manner debonair,

She had confidence and ease at an elegant affair,
Her smile was warm and friendly; people could not help but stare,
Her touching conversation and her honest sense of care,
Put her subjects at their ease, and made them love her more,

She was exquisite and graceful, she was flowing, she was rare,
In her daydream was an image of a well-appointed heir,
A beautiful young princess in her mind she did appear,
A lovely apparition that her mirror showed most clear.

© 051305 Petit Poet

Caprock Summer

Caprock summer, dusty, hot and dry,
Unrelenting heat in arid land,
Searing summer sun in cloudless sky,
Desolate red clay and lifeless sand,

Cattle seek the scrawny mesquite tree,
Its meager shade sun’s piercing rays allay,
Scattered grassy clumps their only feed,
Where cactus, sagebrush grow in sterile clay,

With squeaky whirr the windmill blade goes round,
Propelled by radiant stir of midday heat,
A healing stream from deep within the ground,
Is pumped by wooden shaft with rhythmic beat,

Empty rural schoolhouse sits forlorn,
Waiting for the Autumn bell to ring,
Children do their chores in early morn,
Then run for swimming holes to find relief,

Natives eke out lives both bare and grim,
Cold in winter and in summer hot,
Buffeted by weather’s fickle whims,
In barren Caprock land that God forgot.

© 050905 Petit Poet

Mount Diablo

Rising proudly and majestic, Mount Diablo,
Reigning mighty and benevolent, o’er its realm below,
Ever constant, ever changing, regal views to show,
On a grateful population, blessings to bestow,

Winter beauty, still and peaceful, blanketed by snow,
Summer foothills, calm and tranquil, emerald grasses grow,
Fields of mustard in the valley, with their golden glow,
Graceful scenes from Pleasant Hill and marshy Solano,

Morning, evening, peak is rising o’er the fog below,
Multicolored rays of sunlight – sunrise, sunset glow,
Eternal beauty, gift was given, millennia ago,
Elegance and joy forever, Mount Diablo,

Keep the beauty, save the mountain, Mount Diablo.

© 050605 Petit Poet

Sunflowers

Sunflowers grow, as Blake described,
To reach the sun and touch the sky,
At zenith reach Immortal Truth,
And with His Love their souls imbue,

But there’s no need to reach the sky,
To go where bluebirds, eagles fly,
He’s everywhere in space and time,
For He is deep inside my mind.

© 050405 Petit Poet

Awakening

For years encased in my cocoon,
Withdrawn into my little room,
Without a pane, without a sound,
Silence, darkness all around,
Feeling sadness, feeling blue,
No joy, no laughter, and no you.

Deep in sorrow, did I pray,
“Come help me please, this gloom allay,
Come heal my heart and make me laugh,
Come let me love again at last,
Come now and let my search be done,
Come fill my heart again with sun.”

And then one day, an angel came,
To heal the sorrow, life proclaim,
Sparkling laughter, playful muse,
Teaching me that joy is truth,
At last the Spring, and gone is pain,
Awakening to live again.

© 040605 Petit Poet

Artificial Life

Flashing lights, luminous sky,
Yet empty artificial life,
Faulty thoughts and faulty deeds,
Built on ego’s changing needs,
Always searching, wanting more,
Never satisfied or sure,

And then at last a lesson learned,
Discover wrong direction turned,
We learn that we must turn about,
Not looking in, we must look out,
To find the love and joy we need,
Gifts that are given are gifts received.

© 050305 Petit Poet

Waking

I waken with my fingers softly tucked into her hair,
I hear her slow and peaceful, rhythmic breathing in my ear,
I feel her sleeping body rest entangled with my own,
Quietly, I’m thankful for the love that she has shown,
Deeply, I am grateful for this woman I have known.

© 020604 Petit Poet

Symphony of Madness

Goofy gags and funny jokes,
The set is filled with silly folks,
Trying to outdo each other’s “badness”,

Engulfed by noise, and chaos reigns,
Action everywhere, insane,
Soon you’re entertained by all the madness,

Curvy women, men that grope,
You find you can no longer mope,
Soon you’re letting go of all your sadness,

Soon you feel the laughter come,
Soon you’re swept up in the fun,
And when the show is done you feel the gladness,

When it’s over, feeling free,
An overwhelming sense of glee,
A riot of a symphony of madness.

© 042905 Petit Poet