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Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Be A Joyful Child

A long, long time ago there was,

A happy child at play.

The old face in the mirror asks,

Where is that child today?

Sometimes it seems like yesterday,

Sometimes an age or more.

Since I have seen that smiling face,

That long ago I wore.

I look for them sometimes it’s true,

That child I used to be.

And now and then, I catch a glimpse,

Of laughing, smiling me.

I think of how it was back then,

With future just a word.

And all the stress of adult life,

Not lived and seldom heard.

I couldn’t see the treasure of,

The life I lived back then.

Sometimes I wish I could go back,

And do it all again.

But that is not the way it works,

Each life goes just one way.

So find the child you used to be.

Let their joy fill your day.

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Own You

Why do we do the things we do?
What is it makes us go?
And when we do what we should not,
Pretend we didn’t know?
Some say this is the way we are,
Imperfect, full of sin.
Some say it’s what our parents did,
Still buried deep within.
I say it is each choice we make,
We make each one alone.
Not parents, God nor DNA,
It’s on our heads alone.
We choose to hold one person back,
Another person teach.
The hand that hurts, the hand that helps,
Just one mind guides them each.
We are just who we choose to be,
No truth could be so plain.
Some lash out from the smallest hurt,
Some rise above their pain.
You cannot choose all of the things,
That life will bring to you.
It’s up to you how you respond,
Think well before you do.

Cheers, Winston

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I mean really… What the heck am I thinking. I made it through April by the skin of my teeth, yet here I am writing another verse. Sometimes I really wonder about me.

 

Our Own Worst Enemy

Technology is not the foe,

it’s not your enemy.

That AI that you dread so much,

is far less threat than me.

 

The science that grows beef in labs,

and soy that bugs won’t eat.

Is building apps to help the blind,

and other needs to meet.

 

It’s not the tech that ends us all,

but what we do with it.

It’s our own inhumanity,

will make our future shit.

 

A hammer’s just a hammer and,

can’t care what it’s used for.

The person using it decides,

to build or start a war.

 

All tech comes down to this same choice,

that shapes our future days.

To kill or cure, to build or burn,

I pray we change our ways.

 

Cheers, Winston

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It’s strange how fast time goes sometimes. It seems like it was only this morning that I was writing the poem for Day 26. Funny how that works eh? Ah well, if I can get past this last blank page, I’ll have made my deadline. Let’s see what’s left in the bottle… shall we?

 

Lynn My Love

My love again you are the one,

I turn to in my need.

The inspiration for my life,

you are my muse indeed.

 

When I can’t think of what to write,

need only think of you.

And sure enough the blocks dissolve,

to let the words flow through,

 

I love you Lynn you are my life,

make all I do worthwhile.

The greatest gifts that I’ll receive,

are your love and your smile.

 

So thank you once again my love,

for all the joy you bring.

You are the Sun and Moon to me,

you are my everything.

 

Cheers, Winston

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I think I mentioned last time that things get a little strange once the creativity starts flowing. Well, hopefully I can finish on a slightly more normal note.

 

A Note To My Therapist

A dream perhaps and yet more real,

than I have known before.

How can I know the truth of it,

what’s dream and what is more.

 

In dreams I often tell myself,

“You’re dreaming never fear.”

But what if I am wrong and this,

is false, the dream is here.

 

What if rules and common sense,

are only in my head.

And all the chaos I call dreams,

is really real instead.

 

There’s no answer that I can find,

no way to truly know.

So I’ll just choose the one I like,

and that’s where I will go.

 

So if you come and I have gone,

it’s true I’ve only woke.

It’s you who’s trapped within a dream,

the punchline to my joke.

 

Cheers, Winston

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Sometimes when I wrench open the creative valve, the weirdest things get washed out.

 

On Ghosthunters

A figure faintly seen at night,

there in the empty place.

If you could gain a closer view,

would you gaze on it’s face?

 

It walks there every night alone,

even when it’s not seen.

Would you it’s solitude invade,

are you in truth that keen?

 

Perhaps its solitude it craves,

just wants its well earned peace.

Not closure for its life on earth,

not waiting on release.

 

Perhaps that place it haunts is home,

where hangs its phantom hat.

And you are mere trespassers there,

Have you considered that?

 

So take your tools and pack  your bags,

go back where you came from.

This haunt is ours and here it stays,

it’s you who’s not welcome.

 

Cheers, Winston

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Yay! Day 27 complete. Only three more to go before bed. Or maybe tomorrow. We’ll see how if there’s anything left in the old “creative juice” bottle.

 

Lost Youth

When we were young we did not think,

beyond the present day,

We lived our lives just for right now,

we knew no other way.

 

When we were young we had no plan,

we did just as we dared.

But now even the simplest task,

is planned for and prepared.

 

“What if?” is now our daily prayer,

our minds whirl round and round.

We’re robbed of fun and robbed of joy,

only our fears abound.

 

So take some time and think back to,

that younger, simpler you.

Think back on all the fun you had,

before stress made you blue.

 

Remember life before “What if?”,

when plans were for old folk.

Before your life got in your way,

like some bad cosmic joke.

 

So don’t make plans quite every day,

just let your heart decide.

And give your weary brain a rest,

let freedom back inside.

 

Cheers, Winston

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