Lacking Formality

Lacking Formality

I am not a poet
Only a weapon
Slicing through
The cavity
Of grief and sorrow
The pen of blue
Absolutely trustworthy
Having suffered the view
Where results are always the same

I have never be able
To tame my heart
Intimately or otherwise
But compassion does not succeed
In keeping people alive

Tempered with disorder
And turbulence in a sick world
The blade sharpens
With full serrated edges
I cannot purchase my way out
Even with a sky full of stars

I know nothing more discouraging
Then those who were betrayed
With acts of injustice
This is my wound
And I let it weep

In the shadowy fist of restlessness
Weak and lost
The ghosts plead there time
Move the dirt of angel dust
And the letters will arrange themselves

I am not a poet
I am but a mere speck
Dedicated to a vision
That goes on forever
I was born to listen hard
With a desire to see change
To set things right
Even if I am incapable

I am tired of poetry
Its solemn air
Two-inches thick
With regrettable truth
I am weary
With the realities of life

Someday I wish
To be a dreamer

Nancy

Freedom’s Page

With great interest to the eye
There is much freedom
In writing
I have always loved
The notebook that lets me
Scribble upon its pages
Neatly between the lines
Or messy in the margins
A simple piece of paper
I own with my own breath
Words
Harsh and abrasive
Or soft and sweet
I choose
I give them existence
A servant to my own mind
This pen lets me go
Wherever I wish
It doesn’t have to be good
It just has to be
I triumph in the knowledge
That I can write
That I can take one thought
One idea
One opinion
And change it into two or three
Or ten if need be
Without demand or obligation
I have free rein
Regardless of the content
There is peace that flows from a pen
A weight absorbed to paper
All ills and aches
Sit in gratitude
All delights conceived
Sit in comfortable splendor
There is nothing in all of life
That gives such freedom
Than to own a pen
And a blank piece of paper

Nancy

Purity

Her tiny hand locked in mine
As we walked to the nearest park
She got to ride the wind
As I pushed the swing
Higher and higher
Her laughter tickled my throat
As the sunbeams danced
Through her hair

It flutters she said
My tummy flutters
Higher she begged, higher
As the forcing wind
Caused her to giggle with glee
I’m flying, I’m flying
Just like the birdies
Like the birdies she repeated

The gleam in her eyes
Held the innocence of delight
The two-year-old excitement
Overflowing with each breath
The carefree million-dollar smile
Dashing harum-scarum
All over her face

The tiny risk of letting
One hand go
Forcing her fearless arm
Through the chains
To feel the adventure
The wind having little impact
On her brave and curious face

Her angelic smile
Sweet to the senses
Was poetry’s most excellent voice
Enchanting and dearest to the heart
With a secure hold on the swing
Her arms swung around my neck
She looked straight into my eyes
Again, can we do again?

There is nothing in life
More precious
Than a child’s trusting stare
And that pure and perfect innocence

Nancy