Poetry is in the eye of the beholder.  Have a blast with the material and then share it with others for the mutual benefit of society.   

There are pictures of me at my Grandparents’ house,
Of when I was a little boy.
These aged folks,
Put in me parades celebrating foreign wars of the past,
Celebrating patriotism, and the American way.
They dressed me as a toddler in,
Red, White, and Blue clothes.
All the families loved little Kenny.
They had great hopes for me,
I hope I will never forget,
How everyone loved little Kenny.

Today,  I try to do my best,
And listen, hear; maybe, even lend an ear (One of the chief problems with some Artists),
I ask for help from the heaven’s above.
I am thankful to point to a source of inspiration,
And the carmaraderie of a group friends.
Hopefully, I will never forget,
That everyone loves little, Kenny.

He is not dressed as a clown,
Or living like a clown,
Or acting like a clown,
Or thinking like a clown,
Or being a clown,
He is our hope for the future.
They are our hope for the future because,
Everyone loves that little boy, that little friend,
The little star on the horizon; that little man who shares the love and happiness,
In his heart.

Everyone loves little Kenny.
 

It was the old bouquet that led me to the crown,
The old bouquet--never did let me down.
It was the old bouquet that set me free,
The old bouquet kept me from death on a tree.

It was the old bouquet that kept me from despair:
The old bouquet from destruction elsewhere.
It was the old bouquet that let me settle in;
The old bouquet--To life’s love,
Away from agony, which is sin.
And I’ll cling to the old bouquet.

It was the old bouquet that stopped the terror alone.
The old bouquet brought me home.
It was the old bouquet that embraced me in it’s arms.
The old bouquet took the pain and made it to my soul foreign.
And I will (I am able and empowered) cling to the old bouquet.

The banquet is from the beginning:
It will never have an end.
The fragrance is never fleeting,
Beauty increases and never still it stands.
Crimson, Ivory of Life,
Breathed Rose,
Sheds not a tear,
But ends all fear.

Laughing joy,
Releases its’ scent,
Of health, purpose-truth,
And precious end.

It was the old bouquet that started my life anew.
The old bouquet will complete it,
In the shade of a glorious hue.

It was the old bouquet that gave me the gift of life:
That makes me want to share it.
And I’ll cling to the old bouquet,
And I’ll cling to the old bouquet,
And I’ll cling to the old bouquet,
And I’ll cling to the old bouquet.
 

Twelve
 

[Someone wrote in my notebook without telling me or discussing why they wrote this word.  For several years I felt ashamed to mention this poem.  The person who left this word misspelled the word; therefore, technically I do not even know what they were trying to say.   The word was “Juding”--I think they were trying to say that my poem was judgement...judge for yourselves.]
 

Where is love?
Where is care?
We need to be, ready to share:
To bear,
To have,
To hold.

Tears stream down her face,
Cleansing in her heart.
Change from passive, into
Living light.
All is improving,
Thank you, Living...
Power embracing the night.

Wrenching pain,
Uncontrollable fits of,
Ugliness and dark.
Life not end,
To be, see.
 

I am happy to be here, I am happy to be here,
I am happy to be here,
Where you are near.
I am happy to be here, I am happy to be here,
I am happy to be here,
Escaping to a place of radiant,
Smiles, and faces of friends and relatives.
“Come and meet my friends,” I say.
The Sunshine brothers and sisters,
Flow and greet all the new arrivals.

Suddenly, the newly arrived children begin to sing:
“We are happy to be here, Happy to be here.
A place that cleaned and washed away our fear.
And we will not be afraid , and we will never be alone.
The brightness that surrounds us continues to be shone,
Amongst us and through us, leading us to know heights,
We are so happy to be here,  So appreciative to be near,
Its so wonderful to be here,
With YOU, and everyone.”

I never forgot that phrase and know that all my pals will come here soon,
With many loved ones, and dear friends,
Who can look us in the eyes and confess to being clean!
They sing, “We are happy to be here,
We are happy to be here.  We never again will in fear or depair.
And you, my friend will come with us.
And we will sing near forever.”

Fourteen
 

I have a miniature soviet in my heart,
It tries to set five-year plans,
That are destined to fail,
And bring starvation, and hopelessness.

The winter is cold,
With much ice in my arteries.
The fat and salt are staples,
That will choke my committee until the end.

The chairman controls the followers,
Until only pettiness, and selfishness rules.
A scream grows throughout my inner being,
Forty million threats disappear,
By bad feelings and choices.
 
The capitalist man,
Runs me at peak efficiency,
Until my body obeys a higher power,
And I rest.

I must contribute and live,
There is no moral creed that breaks physical laws,
Except Miracles.

I long for beautiful fruits, and people.
I will work and produce,
I am glad that a smile and a warm feeling does not need to be efficient,
May it only be effective.
I need effective feelings of warmth in my heart.
The spaniards say, “Mi Corazon!”
I need the words to sound that way--
Then I shall love again.

I love you.
 

    I am not alone.

I am not alone,
Though I run away and hide in,
An old space station away from people.
It is not to flee in agony,
But sweet victory.

The decisions that I have made helps all my people.
True, it does help me to live--
And stay alive, alive.
But I do feel that a great weight,
Has been released from these weak shoulders of mine.

I am  a strong man in a clown’s body.
The face that seems full and rigorous,
Masks my love for you and a desire.
To care, and hope and listen,
I will never run away.

A great wind blows,
The little children fear and run into their parents’ houses.
The peace is all around me,
I have nothing to fear.
I will not b afraid.
S omeday I will understand,
All will be revealed.
Then we laugh.

As I look into your clear, brown eyes,
And feel the radiance of your sensitive smiling face,
There is so much that I want to share with you.

I see children lining up with their parents for,
Food and provisions,
As their grandmothers search frantically for a way,
To go home and they run, and walk fast,
Afraid of the night.

And my heart is tormented as, I
See a mother trying to fend for her nine young children,
All alone.

My tears, erupting from my eyes and into my lungs and heart.
I wish someone would help and cause a peace and assurance to,
descend upon this land of darkness.

 
                        
 
My children receive presents for their’ birthday,
Others are lucky to receive one small gift.
A few receive the wealth of Kings and Conquerors, every two weeks.
I shake my open palm to God and cry, “Why won’t these tears stop flowing?”
 
He answers with a riddle.
“A clock, A fire engine, A trumpet, A street-sweeper, A key!
When you understand these things,
The tears will stop and you will,
Begin to understand me.”

My dear girl,
I give you this phrase:
“When life is overwhelming,
See a rain cloud coming.
A saucer of milk for kitty,
A bowl overflowing with honey for,
Our friend, George, The California Grizzly Bear.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaarghhghhhhh!!!” George growls,
A far-reaching greeting overtakes our fearful hearts.
But he loves us and will never let us fall in Yellowstone Park.
Your soft brown eyes assist the Healer,
In making my heart young again.
I love that.”
 

Roses
Roses, roses,
I see them everywhere.
Perfect, red roses with,
Thornless, dark green stems,
Cut cleanly at an angle.

Roses in the water,
Roses beside me on the rock.
Roses below me and above.

I’ve never seen a rose tree until now,
Nor a rose parachute with a precious human parasite dangling from it.
Nor a sailing rose drifting in the sea,
Nor a rose that looks like you or me.

Waves of roses rush over me,
Yet only strength and love do I see.
 The air is sweet and want is at an end,
My lovely rose has come again.

The fat and waste are no more on this shore,
For when I step on the rose:  I am
Not who I once was, anymore.
I go where I once feared,
No longer inhigited or scared.

My body is free from restriction and hurt.
It is now a rose on God’s sea:
Wherever it is for Christ’s creature to be.

I must confess that I am not, yet,
That Rose, but only,
My Father will bring it (that character) to me.

I am still frightened and weak to see;
However, this rose that I hold,
Is the beginning of a whole new tree.

Our Father,
In whose Kingdom I be.
Bring to pass the fruits of you,
To me.
Let me embrace the life of your rose.
Let me be close to your light.
Let me become a great tree:
Even if it be a violet...or a rose.

Eighteen
 

I met a young woman the other night named Annie.
As soon as I understood that she was recommended to talk to me,
I realized my age.
For a split second I saw myself as the old weird artist,
Maybe even a washed-up wannabe writer.

Then light hit me and my eyes opened.
I saw Annie:
She was dancing and leaping through her life,
With the grace of a (as some would say) gazelle.
I would prefer to compare the vision of the dancer,
To the movement of many ballerinas in the Royal Winnipeg Ballet,
Dancing with passion, fire, fervency, loveliness, peace, and  solitude.

When the grey times come,
And the loud music ceases,
Annie bends into a place of rest waiting for a new tempo;
Listening for the flowing words to come again.
Then the viola strikes a chord and the orchestra renews the theme of the lifetime:
Annie’s song.
 The shining daughter soars through night,
Flying on an airplane to the next destination,
Of her life.
The black gown emphasizes,
The feelings, the healing, the dealing,
And free and full of hope.

This is just the beginning young queen in-waiting.
The coronation day is; yet, to come--not far away.
The knight will assist on your journey,
To the kingdom on high.
The High King will crown him, Lord and present,
The hand of queen Annie.

The waves from the ocean rush upon the rocks around,
Kilkenny Castle, the fortress of the holy, devoted ones.
The pain of birth is measured, in full, with joy,
And great celebration.
Many dancing children come forth and the Queen,
Sings a beautiful song of happiness, expectation, and tribulation.
She says the best is always bittersweet.
Without the dark times, no expectation cound be found.

As Annie moves through life,
The High King of Kings assists and keeps her from feeling,
Hopeless and alone.
While Annie dances, the Angelic Hosts proclaim and
Give honor to the Son.

Sienna,
A mother approaching middle age,
With no husband,
With a divine husband.
She has a challenged seventeen year-old boy.

If someone would listen,
To hear her words, to hear her heart.
She tells tales of great insight.
She upsets many as she tries to live out,
her destiny.

Destiny, destiny,
Does anyone care.
I listen to her words,
I do not have the strength to bring her into my bed.
I like her trying to tell the truth.
I hope someone listens and always cares.
The heavenly listener will never leave.
 

Love,
Unconditional.
It’s a thrill, but to our jaded mind:
A chill.

When we discover,
In truth, there is no other,
Love coming to me, no matter:
Who I am,
Where I’ve been,
Where I’m going,
What I’ll do,
How awful my sin, or
How bad my breath stinks?

Love speaks to me,
Breaks through my walls of self-hate,
Anger, pity, and destruction.
He says, “Come and sit on my lap.”
 
I sit down and fall into a dark pit.
All is black around me.
Fear tries to overtake,
Then warmth emanates all over me.
I can sing a thousand songs.
I can dream a million dreams.
I can kiss one only--a billion times.
Love has won and says, “I’ll come for you!”
 
 

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