Is there a roto rooter for your mind.
Words of hate, of our fellow man.
Can it purge these words, most unkind?
I wish there were. I even plea,
Clear out my mind, do it for me.
Retired for many years and now re-discovering some writings, from long ago, along with new endeavor to help save my soul.
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Is there a roto rooter for your mind.
There is a gnome
living in our yard
who appears to be stoic,
trying very hard,
to be alert
when the rabbits
come out to eat.
He guards against bugs,
and crawly things,
but doesn't like slugs.
Keeping an eye on
Cats that walk by,
on their prowl.
The Cats ignore,
they don't even growl,
as they search
for their usual prey.
All in all
will play every day.
If you are alert,
like I usually am,
you can see
They're out of place.
The quiet gnome
have made this
garden their home,
and that's all
right with me,
as we live
together, most happily.
The greatness of this World is seen
with every sunrise with daylight in between.
What greater view, for which to strive,
then to watch the World come alive.
The musical notes, of the song
bird, float on the pure morning air,
as Bees and branches of trees,
stirred by the wind, are heard everywhere.
It's time to write.
It's time to shed,
All of these words,
Stuck in my head.
I must now write,
Quick as I can,
For words flee
Much faster than
I can put them to paper
And so you see,
If it's not written,
I won't capture thee.
I was in a dream.
On a path, I chose to follow,
until I came to a pond,
with a large log, all hollow.
The opening much taller than I .
Outside it was covered with moss,
I moved to the mouth and did try
to enter the log; I heard my name; calling
and in a few steps, I was falling,
landing on my old knees.
In front of me, a sight that could please,
was the face of a friend, no longer here.
I struggled to rise from this musty place,
trying to crawl one knee at a time.
The air became heavy as if from smoke,
then suddenly, from the dream, I awoke.
In this dark World, the light you bring
Is happiness and love; It's everything.
The way you talk to people
Strangers and friend,
Sets the stage; where you'll
be at the end.
The end of life's journey,
Shortens every day.
Be thankful to those who helped
Along the way.
Look at me.
Look this way.
Can you not see me?
I wish you would say,
I'll be right with you,
Instead of looking away.
Don't ignore my spot in your place,
Please I came here to eat,
Not just be a face,
That you choose to ignore.
This probably sounds terrible
But have I become invisible?
In the morning hours,
sitting, with pen in hand,
words pouring forth
like mental sand.
Falling to paper,
inscribed with ink,
only I know what I think.
My mind is filled,
with words galore,
pouring out through an open door,
for my hand is starting to hurt,
as I sift through the sandy dirt.
Don't mock me or the clothes, that I wear.
Please don't even mention my hair.
My hair, is not the bluest of blue
Kind of a mixture or purple hue.
I wear my yellow morning coat, you see
And the polka dot tie that goes to my knee.
My pants are a lovely shade of emerald green,
With pointed shoes, that would impress the Queen.
Why do you stare at poor, lonely me?
I dress this way because I am free.
Free to do what ever I like,
I even have a bright yellow trike,
With bells and whistles, setting the scene,
For I'm fulfilling my only childhood dream.
So off I go, on the short, little trip,
You must admit, that I do look quite hip.
So tell me now, If you possibly can,
Am I your picture of an elegant man?
I water the plants, that are in our yard.
Watering is easy; pulling the hose is hard.
With my I Pod playing and the buds in my ear,
I listen to music and then I do hear,
Willie Nelson, a wailing, like only he can do
And his song brings my thoughts, directly to you.
This is an old, sentimental song for me.
My eyes start to moisten, I hate that they do
But the words being sung, remind me of you.