Humanistic/Earthy Poetry
Archive
crayon by
Pietro Barbera |
November 1997
Poem:
Thoughts from a Dying Man
Mistakes were made, only now realized
The dreams not made,
have finally capsized
Here I weep and dry tears I've cried
These are
the thoughts from a dying man.
Upon thy bed I look and wait
As
darkness vows to enter my gate
My time, too soon and now, it's too late
Thoughts from a dying man.
Afar my love, my mind eye sees
Of
time long gone spent joyfully
Amongst the willows and green pageantry
Thoughts from a dying man.
Cheated of time, I know I'm owed.
Too
young am I, when others say I'm too old.
A moment, so small, in the life of
a world.
Thoughts from a dying man.
No longer will I see the
flowers of Spring.
The gentle breeze, the rolling wind
The faces, the
friends, the feelings they bring.
The thoughts from a dying man.
The thoughts they cease
When bloods run cold
Here engraved
Upon my stone. |
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American Gothic
by
Grant Wood |
Written 1994
Editor Award
Winner
Poem:
The Farmer
Ominous skies,
Lethal to touch,
The vehicles blades-
So sharp.
Day after
day, the time passes by…
Nothing is said
Their eyes they
itch,
Their hands they burn,
Their partners they weep,
The weather
so dry…
How volatile a life can be;
How mother nature can
rule,
So strong.
A sweep of her hand: DEVASTATION.
And
they cry… |
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 |
August 1995
Poem:
Only
Human
I sit and stare at
The ragged blue
jeans on a man,
Unshaven,
Motionless in the Park.
Although
midday,
He slept…
I suppose he was up all night
Dodging the
street thugs and broken glass.
He seemed harmless
Lying there,
Finding safety in the sun.
I look, but cannot pass judgment
On
his shoes, which won't fit.
The windows of his soul,
I hope to never
meet
And I will not pass judgment
As he lay,
Motionless in the
park. |
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acrylic by Pietro Barbera |
Poem:
A Vision
Nothing is more beautiful than a rose,
Except the warmth that
fills my heart,
When your in my vision.
Blooming from within
No
feeling could make me want to give so much of myself;
If only for a
smile. |
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Humanistic Poetry Archive
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