1994

Ode To The Poet ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

PUBLISHED as 'The Poet's Journey'
Interface Magazine/Earl Weeks publisher

From front to back and back to front
So mesmerized by simple things
That life provides, and life explains,
But more than mystery remains;
Who has the key
Who has the verse
Unlocking by description secrets hidden
But known to all at each revision. The
Poet's bane to understand what truth
Is at the heart of every game ..

From youth on up he stands alone
His world a rocky ledge, so narrow,
Where one false step exposes his life;
They think him strange, but stranger still
Should he decide
Should he will
To step away into the chasm of the world
And offer himself vicariously by denying
His identity, God-given at best, and plunge
Into the lying orgy that waits to kill ..

Surely the poet would better off be
Dead before birth, for he or she
Must learn to dance without instruction,
Their steps hidden even from themselves
Turn to right
Turn to left
Leave only broken bones, the marrow tasted
This his life and endless sorrow encased,
Entombed by flesh and friends who never
Seem to care much more than shelves ..

And so the years draw on, one futile
Battle lost or won, but never mind;
His curses carry different weight
His blessings have no end, but never mind;
Over hill
Over dale
He panders to no one's tale willingly,
Knowing that compromise produces death
And death produces an unending stream
Of speculation from those who are blind ..

The poet's journey amidst a thousand tales
Is lost unless fame precede his entrails;
But mindless hordes are entertained
Not learned or taught but just excited;
Push them here
Pull them there
No one exposes the hidden path the poet
Treads beyond extrapolation. Silence
Diminishes the poet's light, he is one who
Needs to put down what love has ignited ..

Spirit Man ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

In the stillness of a quiet night
When heartbeats seem to ring
And one's repose hopes for renewal
As dawn the morning brings ..

Beneath the silent soulful cries
Contained in weary flesh
And hidden from the fretful mind -
The spiritman at rest ..

The inner eye seeks for the joy
Of knowing what it sees
And cannot rest until it finds
That deep abiding peace ..

It searches for the loving way
Throughout the day's distractions
And chooses to expose the lie
That leads to putrefaction ..

But underneath the vanity
Of worldly aims and goals
The heart's desire's forever wish
Is quiet and repose ..

While all creation moans and groans
Bursting at the seams
Producing dying shudders
Of long forgotten dreams ..

The Word of truth remains alone
A fixture, solid rock
To bring about the final death
Of man's presumptuous crock ..

A testament, a sentiment
Nothing coming clear
No compromise with filthy lies
Would ever rid the fear ..

One man died and millions burned
To stop the rush to hell
And no one noticed mankind's birth
Into the inner well ..

The soul is ever restless
As winds of love do blow
Casting ne'er one shadow
Across life's given bow ..

And tears are slowly forming
Wet and oily just to touch
The rain of fear is ended
Of spirit is man such.

Words ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

PUBLISHED: Poetry.com finalist

Words .. words are just like human turds

They come from somewhere deep within
Composed from inner motivation
Lots of blended gastric juices
Sift and sort the mind's emotions ..

Rarely does one hear the truth
Like the smoothest movement of the bowel
If not so big at least so round
The only kind that needs no trowel ..

But by and large the human word
Comes like a run of diarrhea
Or else in chunks so big and bold
That only life itself can see it ..

Sometimes smaller droppings show
The sorrow, pain that people go through
But worst of all when one is speechless
The constipated truth it teaches

A long blue boat
Swiftly running upstream
Sea gulls at every port
Alerting seamen with their scream ..

The Bandertrak watched obediently
While in the distance
In someone else's dream
The storm clouds loomed insistent ..

Out of the clouds
A bolt of lightning flew
And struck the long boat's main mast ..

Toppling in the water
And crushed beneath the weight
The Bandertrak lay gasping ..

But the Bandertrak recovered
And sent back a fiery stream
That consumed the lurking enemy -
And his mast restored, he went ahead full steam ..

While over in the distance
He heard the birdies sing
A song of praise and worship
To Jesus, Lord and King

I was not a sensitive man.
"What is life?" someone asked
"Anything that is not death" I said
Now I am only sensitive.

Ode To The Poet ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

PUBLISHED as 'The Poet's Journey'
Interface Magazine/Earl Weeks publisher

Spirit Man ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Words ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

PUBLISHED: Poetry.com finalist

The Poem That Changed The World ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Friends ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Growth ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Ode To The Poet ©1994 DW GOLD

PUBLISHED as 'The Poet's Journey' Interface Magazine/Earl Weeks publisher

Spirit Man ©1994 DW GOLD

Words ©1994 DW GOLD

PUBLISHED: Poetry.com finalist

The Poem That Changed The World ©1994 DW GOLD

Friends ©1994 DW GOLD

Growth ©1994 DW GOLD

Ode To The Poet ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

PUBLISHED as 'The Poet's Journey'
Interface Magazine/Earl Weeks publisher

Spirit Man ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Words ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

The Poem That Changed The World ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Friends ^{©1994 DW GOLD}

Growth ^{©1994 DW GOLD}