Days in the life of a poet

When life gets too complicated and our hearts and minds seek out what is good and provides us sustenance...poetry is the breath of life. Words allow us to communicate...to express that within us that is most precious and real. We crave that which is familiar and gives us comfort...read and receive*

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Home


 
The maples, elms, dogwoods and magnolias are splendid
The lushness of green grasses, gorgeously carpet the land
The waters of life; oceans, rivers, lakes and streams
Waterfalls and every small pond
God’s gifts all bathed in the sweet, golden rays of the sun
One can only revel in such blissful, glorious beauty

When summer flowers in full bloom
Dance and sway with the subtle breezes
I am reminded of summers past and wax nostalgic
Of dreamscapes and hidden paradises
Of desirable places I’ve yet to see

Each day the sun rises and sets on many horizons
And upon the mountains of many distant plaines
The breadth of their magnificence evokes humble awe
And blesses one with longings for worldly adventures

To feel exotic lands beneath one’s feet
To bask in their scenery, greenery and wondrous splendor
There is still magic in this old world
There are secrets yet to be revealed
Within this bounty, rightly named “Earth”
Though her existence be thoughtlessly challenged
By the chaotic masses of humanity

Beneath pale blue skies and pure-white, wispy clouds
This house where dreams are manifest and breathe with life
Upon deep emerald seas of captivating effervescence
Mere words can be equated as “un-just” in their failings
To describe the indescribable
This world, this Eden…
This /home/ which we live*


© copyright 2011 - All Rights Reserved

We Know Him


He was that man…
that poor soul suffering
daily muttering…spiritual pleas
Seeking only small blessings
…how he begged God…
asking:  Who our Moses be?
Have mercy on our tired, worn soul
Please, don’t let massa, bring us low?

He was that man…
stripped of humanity; into slavery thrust
he toiled the fields, dawn to dusk
beast of burden…treated as thus
though he stood
though he walked
though he spoke
loved, knew compassion
knew fear
joy, pain…
his intelligence;
a man…
He knew great patience
…that poor soul suffering
daily muttering…singing spiritual pleas

He was that man…
faced the evil of his time
understood the reason, the rhyme
Knew the stench of vapid hate
knew he had to suffer his fate
freedom would come…
God is never late
an eternity in Glory
…he continued to wait

He was that man…
with his strong back and sharp mind
his secret strength…bided his time
suffered every inhumane and vile act
against his creed in history’s tracts
really no need to look back…

The glory of the Lord is coming
…that man stands strong
As the descendant of African Kings
As the descendant of African Queens
that man…stands strong…knowing
glorious and everlasting peace is coming
when God’s Angels, come calling

He knew then…he knows now
and he worries not…his name is in the book
…he has a place to rest*


Jon` B. Crenshaw
We Know Him
© copyright 2011 - All Rights Reserved


Quiet Time


She basks in blue…
in contrast to the ebbing day
her dress dancing with the wind
…as if in mourning the sun’s descent
yet welcoming the coming golden moon
her wispy, whispery contemplation

She stands alone…waiting
perhaps in a state of longing
for that love of her yesterday
there in her quietude
there in her lonely mood
she stands alone waiting*

Poetry and Men


Some women believe…
Men aren’t supposed to “feel”
Their misguided perceptions
interpret male emotions as “weakness”
They say; real men don’t cry
don’t crave “real love”
…as if, our hearts shouldn’t know
how to love with…tenderness
living emotion(less)…

Then…why does my spirit ache and
…why does loneliness creep in my dreams
and why do I shed these tears of
…a man without love, without joy
…and why does my skin crave…a touch

Someone to look into my soul
Caress my cheek and say
…they love me deeply
Like no other love
…nothing else would matter
kiss me with sweet lips
…warm and inviting…breathing
I’d inhale…love

Some say, men don’t know love…
maybe, they’ve forgotten about poets*


Jon` B. Crenshaw
Poetry and Men
© copyright 2011 - All Rights Reserved

Happiness

I lean in, giving her the lightest
feathery kiss…barely touching
her crimson lips parting
taste peach on her tongue tip
delectable and sweet…savory passion

I tell her; how deeply my love flows
how my heart so gratefully contains
what dwells throughout my spirit
…her love so rare
…she shines in me, the spirituality
…she is to me

She reaches for and caresses my cheek
Her brown eyes express to my soul
…the quiet whispers of her glare
Our embrace, our heart symphony
our rhythm, drumming ageless within
…we are both trembling…
as love swells and swoons in soft cascades
washing over and elating
…melodic, bright, strong and infinite

A single tear sparkles in her eye and
…I sigh, the sigh of a man…happy*


Jon` B. Crenshaw
Happiness
© copyright 2011 - All Rights Reserved