Phil:Poetry

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Poems Written on a Whim (or other small scrap of paper)

The Seed of Divinity

It is pride in what I am, and should be
  which drives me.
Sometimes to hypocrisy, sometimes to greatness.

A knowledge of from whence I came, Those heavenly parents who gave my spirit start. Those earthly ones which gave gave my body life.

At times it seems my life is all consumed with covering up my failures to do right, by this great heritage. Other moments I am swept away in who I am. Only to realize in looking back when I have a moment to reflect, What I've accomplished not through conscious effort But because I have allowed my sheer poential to o'erpower The imperfections I too oft impose upon myself. I cherish times like these when through me shines The seed of divinity which is my birthright.


-PSM (Oct 2004)


Walking Home in Winter

The biting cold, it steals my breath,
The concrete pounds my feet,
I flee as if from heartless death,
I beat my swift retreat.

Homeward to warm and steadfast walls, That hold off Nature raw, Today no sweet sound out here calls, Just Winter's rasping saw.

I'm hunched and hurried, headed home, I rush past shrub and tree, Bereft of leaf, in frostbit loam, They seem as lone as me.

But in my heart there stirs a song, Like purest angels sing, For in my heart, I know 'ere long, Will burst the vibrant Spring.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


Waddle

Waddle what a silly word,
That sounds just like it looks.
The ducks do it along the banks,
and paddle in the brooks.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


The Song of Hope

Into my heart there comes a song,
Whene'er I see the smile
Of a child who's at the dawn
Of life's first winding mile.

And I will sing it all day long, Then lay and sleep a while. For out of such as smile and laugh Of such a little thing. Springs forth the hope that to the world True happiness doth bring.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


At Night

The cold, and churning numbers.
Harsh, blinking lights.
The glaring screens,
The metal's sheens,
The Server Room at night.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


Gentle Girls, Be Gentle

Gentle girls, be gentle,
With voice, and touch, and look.
You know not how you twist inside
Men's hearts the shining hook.
The hook that binds them to you
As lover, friend, or son.
So, gentle girls, be gentle,
with those whose hearts you've won.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


Trembling Like a Leaf in Wind

I am a man
Why shouldn't I,
Go ask that girl to dance?
Just 'cause I awe to look at her
And freeze up at her glance?
Not much a man would then I be
If fear controlled me so.
So, trembling like a leaf in wind,
I'll ask, and then I'll know.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


Poems

Poems are pictures in the mind,
From abstract art, with lines and swirls of light,
To Realism, approaching photography.
Transportation to a place you can just barely not touch, smell, be.
But my favorite poems will always be Impressionist,
The world as a dream, just a little bit more than I can ever quite see,
Poems are the hopeless romantic in me, my best side.
So may it ever be.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


The Beauty of Nature

The beauty of Nature, a glorious thing.
 Open your eyes, and let your heart sing.
The grass on the hill, and the moss on the boughs,
 Brooklet's sweet trill, under langorous clouds
Which drift slowly on through the end of the day,
 Till the stars have arisen and darkness takes sway.
I walk on paved paths through the valleys of men
 While my mind treads dirt trails of a cool mountain glen.
But nature surrounds me, even right here,
 So I stroll, at peace, there is nothing I fear.
For God in His wisdom and infinite love,
 If this earth He made so wondrous and rare
Must have valleys far greater awaiting us there.

The beauty of Nature, a glorious thing, Open your eyes, and let your heart sing.


-PSM (Winter 2005)


Reflection in the Light of Morning

The gurgling in the gutter,
Water down the drain,
Dank refuse swept off the street,
by cool refreshing rain.

The rough, unyielding asphalt, Miry, muddy clay, where feet have tramped the grass down as they went on their way.

The rustle of the wind through trees, Chattering and flight, of sparrows through the cool, moist air, the banishment of night.

I see with all my senses. I wonder and I pray. The universe around me. The part in it I play.


-PSM (Summer 2004)


Silences...

The scraping of the door,
The rustle of the trees,
The waves lapping upon the shore,
A muffled, stifled sneeze,

The warble of the quiet brook, I'm thankful, on my knees, For sounds that make the silences... into symphonies.


-PSM (Summer 2004)


Purging

Remove the white blanket,
Show the dark soul beneath.
Cut with a rapier,
A hole gored to spout filth.
Till everything fills with emptiness.

Cleansed of meaning, good and evil. Then laid bare and open, The vessel may be filled with wonder.

-PSM

tuibbled sqoscre

I watched the 8:10 to Alb'y go by
Sat on my butt when I thought I could fly
Turned on the wheel away from a chance
Stared at the girl, cried like a man.
Over and under a ribbon of gold,
twisted like lightning
so dry it could hold
all of the thought of the monsoon to come
The bat in my belfry is pounding his drum.
But if I stop winding the top and it spins I cannot make a promise we will still be friends. Into a march of promiscuous haze April slid softly with no maydays.
Dylan that liar and Buffet that bum Sat in the shade and drank tears just for fun. If I said we were equal that would be a lie If I said that you can't be, might as well fry.
Is it pretensious to ramble like this? Simmering softly as cold sushi fish?
Ripped from the headlines Torn from my pants A patch of worn denim Surrender in France.
Lost all the winners whom we detest Found the young maggots In simply the best
Rumpell and Stiltsken, their thread gone to mold Burnt down the textile mill, then they sold A basket of ashes to peaceful men To spread on their faces and press to their skin
Ripples in water, a touch of desire Waiting a night in front of pyre
The fiddles burn brightly and Nero does too, Rome is still standing though Pisa's askew
Tribbles are kitschy Manufacturing's in Gilding the filly is a mortal sin Rhyming that reject with object in view Settled me sadder than you started, do No one cheers, up when the, tune is that, waltz.
No one cheers, up when the, tune is that, waltz.
--PSM (Fall 2007)

The stiff upper lip

The stiff upper lip
Stands on the Porch
Falls in the ditch
Sips up the porridge

No one looks back When they walk away The stiff upper lip don't care anyway.

If you could see What have you done No rhythm no reason Just lies. One.

The stiff upper lip. --PSM (Fall 2010)

Unfinished Works

- The things here are unfinished, and they may ever be.
  The moment may be gone fore'er, or yet return to me.

Careworn yet free am I

So shall I be until I die
For a man without worries
Is a man without purpose.
And a man without choices
Is not a man, merely a beast.


-PSM (Winter 2004)

- No Title -

Not far from here in the drizzling rain
Stands a rough hewn rock on the garden plain

It surface spotted with droplets soak 'Mid the crags and cracks where from mount it broke.

Serene, undaunted the monolith lies, But not unchanged under brooding skies

...

I like the rock from the mountain came. And here I stand in the drizzling rain.

I savor the mist as it soaks my skin But long to return to the mount again.


-PSM (Fall 2003)


I know not (unfinished)

I know not how to kiss you dear,
and wipe your tears away.

I do so in my heart each night, 'ere I lay down the day,

To sleep as I would have you sleep with peaceful dreams of beauty.

The love that in my bosom dwells It far surpasses duty.

...

And if as I lay here quite bowed, before your noble feet

I try to serve you all my days, my life might be complete.


-PSM

Finished, unpolished.

A sudden eclipse
rain from a sunny sky
nature play tricks today
and keep us guessing why

zoom out, a cloudless night spreads things so far away then it zooms back again as on the grass I lay

something is missing here just out beyond my reach. this all connects somehow say more and I would preach

that ruins everything sit here and soak it in silence can teach it when words would just be a sin

walk down the avenue alone there purposefully watching small clumps around bustling humanity,

i feel so very old just left that yesterday out of the synergy wherein I used to play

something is missing here just out beyond my reach. this all connects somehow every single any each.

nature looks back at me but just behind her eyes lies what I'm looking for the lasting big surprise

I can be patient yet waiting for what's to be Close my eyes, count till dawn open them one day to see

what has been missing here now right within my arms threads binding fabric that holds nature's greatest charms.

-PSM (Summer 2006)

Incomplete Puzzle

Call me Love,
for it is my name
That I hear
On thy lips

Call me softly
for I could not abide
Harsh tones there
From thy tongue


Call me quickly
for waiting I suffer so
Hope in silence
Under thy spell

Call me thine
for then I may rest
Ever at peace
In thy bosom.

-PSM (Summer 2011)

Poems for a Purpose

Espero

Espero que sonrías pensar,
      Y que quieres creer,
      Y que rias escuchar,
        Cuanto te amo ver.

Pero mas espero que tambien me amas ver.


-PSM (Winter 2005)


Two

A knife in my belly.
My hand covers it,
As if no one will see.

The pain of piercing, A gasped exhalation of shock. But mostly the memory of a scar In my side.


-PSM (Summer 2004)


Indentation

  Ever feel a bit indented?
  As if there is some space
  Between you and the border
  That gives shape to your world.

At times I feel a bit separate, As if there is nothing on the page Which is quite in touch with me.
And then someone comes along, And understands where I come from.
And being touched, I am in touch again.
-PSM (Spring 2005)


Ode to a pansy

Pansies in springtime,
When pollen's in the air.
Angry that they cannot rhyme,
That life just isn't fair.
Trolling through the ether, Sorry, little man.
Mock you without rhyming? I just don't think I can.
Go jump off a cliff friend, Learn to tie your shoes. 'Cuz mess with me? In the end, You are just gonna lose.
-PSM (Spring 2005)

Dulce Decus

O Dulce decus, it is mine,
And answer to my long repine,
That we at last in face may meet,
And I may swoon at thy dear feet.


-PSM (Spring 2005)

Life is but a fleeting moment

Life is but a fleeting moment,
Do not let it pass you by.
There is just no way around it,
You must jump if you would fly.
Nail your courage to a hard place, Hidden deep within your soul. Take the leap and you surrender, For a moment, all control.
Then spread wings and do your worst, To that law which holds you bound. Bound to flutter, frail and helpless, To the cold, unfeeling ground.
Abandon fear now, for the struggle, Calls for all you have to give. Focus, grit, determination, Beat the wind, defy it, live.
Suddenly the reckless journey doomed 'ere it was e'er begun Is a hopeless thing no longer, Now it is all but fair won.
Wind catches upon your wingspan Lifts you up, supports your arm. Gliding now, look below to, Barren dirt and cheated harm.
Then climb and swoop, spin and spiral, Triumph with this caveat one. With all the joy of your successes, Venture not too near the sun.


-PSM (Summer 2005)


I will aver

I will aver, it is as true,
As any other fact.
A wife to cosset I'd not have
Nor one who'd spoil me back.
But rather a much wiser maid To push me from my rest While I encouraged her at times To better former best.
It may seem strange to wish for No cloy and fawning spouse. But better far, woman of strength, Than some sweet, timid mouse.
For life no vale of lilies lies, 'Mid peaceful forest glens. 'Tis also strewn with hidden thorns And wild things in their dens.
If my journey must take me through Not just beauty but strife. I'd have standing right next to me One I'd trust with my life.
When perchance I could not see The path that safest lay Or know to what recourse to turn When sorrows hedged the way.
A girl who stands to face a storm To whom challenge is glee Who'd wit apply rather than die Such is the one for me.
I know that I do not scan all Though my pride often lies And sometimes on unhappy chance I come with swift surprise.
So on the path that I will wind Amid life's toils and charms I'll throw my lot in only with A true comrade-in-arms.
That I may enjoy the sweet views That chance upon my gaze With her who knows the contrast well Of less effulgent days.
Oh, beautiful and kind she'll seem Of that I have no doubt. Her strengths will stem deep from within Not just a shell without.
For wisdom sweetens beauty And urges onto heights Heretofore unattainable Both ladies and their knights.
I seal my words upon this page No verity they lack. Only when such love I can find I'll stand in holy pact.


-PSM (Spring 2005)

Not a better man

I can still recall the touch,
of her glove upon my hand
and I only fear to try,
'cause I'm not a better man.

If you take a chance on me, I will make it worth your while. I'm not half what I would be, but you melt me when you smile.

So I really have to see, I can't wait around until: All is sunny, bright and warm I've become your perfect man.

I am asking pretty please, overlook my major flaws. I've no right to ask you to, but if you do I'll give my all.

Can't you see I'm in the dark, But I see the light above. If you'll just hang on some day, I'll be worthy of your love.


-PSM (Spring 2006)

The ping-pong Duet

Staring across the table,
at first there is challenge in the air.
Who is the more able?

When the first serve in air lets fly, both are on guard wondering what the other will try.
The first volley, almost instinctive, the first read of strength, deciding what to take and what to give.
Gradually taking one another's measure, a little backspin here, a low return, Defensiveness slowly giving way to pleasure.
Enjoyment of the nuances and quirks, the focus of the game, a hard-won point is just one of the perks.
And sure a few are lost but who should care? The End is not the end. Joy comes in knowing that the match is fair.
Slowly the face across the table changes too, it softens, smiles, Appreciation and respect in lieu,
Of that guardedness which first it wore. A smile returned, now careless of the score.
Best opponent becomes greatest friend, for only eye to eye see those who to each other bend.
Fit volley to return, game, set, and match. A game with vigor In this lies life's humorous, endearing catch.
For to such a one as this, one well may lose 'Tis all or nothing One may gain only, what to risk they choose.
But if the game is played to end aright, no game is lost to souls united by the fight.
And where a net once stood between the two, stands nothing, Bonds of stronger weave have cut it thru.
The Ping Pong duet plays in many dens, throughout the world, Stangers turn brothers, lovers, or friends.
-PSM (Spring 2005)

Mouse Songs

Victim of your folly

Victim of your folly
Slave to your abuse
Standin' at the window
Hopin' that you choose
Don't care what your answer Please just set me free I just can't stand having You hangin' over me.
I'm the victim of your folly The one who suffers most wanderin' the streets at night like some kind of ghost
Don't care what your answer Please just set me free (alt? don't care, do you see?) I just can't stand having You hangin' over me.
Victim of your folly, Slave to your abuse I'm the Victim of your folly.


-PSM (Winter 2005)


The science of discontent

I was born to sorrow
and I stand and step with pain.
Grief is before me
and darkness follows,
...like a shadow.
This is why I am strong. As no man born to luck, born to privilege, born to hope, can ever dream to be.
I pull the future from the present with blood and water. My skin crusts with salt as I lay to sleep.
I awaken to the rustling of leaves in the night, of curtains in the draft. I know no rest.
This is why I am strong. Always live in want, live in struggle, live in strain, it seems at times, indignity.
However I would not trade, for all the pillows and perfumes the world can offer, One day of oppression.
This is why I am strong. And when I pass I die at peace, die in victory, die to ascend, to what challenges await me.
This is the science of my discontent.


-PSM (Winter 2005)


Birds and ...

The birds sit in their cages
behind their open doors
waiting for new newspaper
to crap on, on their floors
That pretty little girl there she doesn't know a thing She doesn't see the agony that her life could bring
How can I explain it? What else could I say? Sheltered, little, naïve things I can only pray
I warn you who would use them Who have not known life well Trouble with those dear to me I'll see you go to He--.


-PSM (Winter 2005)


De codex honori

Some who see my beard,
take it as rebellion,
I am sure.
Those who know the twisted paths my mind follows at times, they are sure that in the night I sleep with a sardonic grin, couched in a cradle of whiskers.
Those who know only my face are merely curious, usually too afraid to ask.
I, myself? At times it makes me insecure I am at heart a pathetic creature preoccupied with what others think, in spite of knowing better.


-PSM (Winter 2005)

The death of a traitor

The death of a traitor,
Mockery of man.
Crushing his heart,
in palm of his hand.
Watching black blood,
run over his wrist.
Seeing it dim, 
ceasing to exist.

Not facing his friends
Nor his foes but the fright
Of deeds that were done
In the darkness of night.

Turned upon men
and upon God.
Laying beneath them
himself in the sod.

Unwept.


-PSM (Winter 2007)