Tag Archive: poem


Bonny Lad and Lass

                                                           

Mirrors reflecting darkness

Bring the bonny lad to his lass,

Like coats left in the corner,

When the rain has come to pass.

 

But the bonny lad misplaced the lass

In a dream upon the sea,

Amid waves of things as they were before,

And stormy yet-to-bes.

 

Two shadows fell together

silently – yet alone,

With arms reaching outward,

for the same place at different times.

 

The dream ended

as the ship set sail,

Leaving a question (unasked)

unanswered.

 

Mirrors reflecting sunlight

Distinguish bonny lad from lass,

The coats serve their usefulness,

with the corner free at last.

_________________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

 

 

Something to think about these days.

Dealing With It

 

I would like to let you in –

on a little secret –

It may not be much

Of a secret, however,

I do not see many people

catching on.

 

You can drift away

from the world,

And listen, watch,

and learn.

 

You can spend so much time

watching for sulphur to ignite,

That you fail to see

the match burn.

 

You can seek the truth,

envy the youth,

Think that you may know

The answer.

 

Then find you concentrated

too much on the dance,

Ignoring the soul

of the dancer.

_____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

Blue

 

Blue is the color of the ashtray

from which your figure appears

in the smoke from the cigarette.

 

Blue is the color of the sky

as I go outside to lie

on the grass and think of you.

 

Blue is the color of the twinkle in my eye

remembering your tender smile

when I did something you approved of.

 

Blue is your touch upon my face

softer than the night,

like the seagull’s quiet flight.

 

Blue is the color of my thoughts

when I think of you

and remember that I love you!

 

Blue.

_________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

With gathering places still closed, I came across this poem I wrote about being at the library.

At The Library

 

At the library –

– I see a different side of life –

Polite people whispering

Diligently reading.

I scrape a chair

And say “Excuse me,”

To all the readers staring.

 

At the library –

– I sit at a table –

Watch a girl sleeping.

Her mother writing

A paper she was asked

to write for night school,

While her young daughter waits.

 

At the library –

– I watch the librarian –

Walking briskly,

A student is following.

She tries to show him

where the biographies

on Shakespeare and Milton

are located in the stacks.

 

At the library –

People reading,

writing,

sleeping,

doing research,

relaxing,

and learning.

At the library.

____________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

Good Morning Sweetheart

 

Good morning sweetheart,

I love you more than strawberry cheesecake,

– and I really like strawberry cheesecake.

I love you more than peel ‘n’ eat shrimp and beer,

more than cold water after mowing the lawn,

more than the day’s first cup of coffee,

more than Marshall’s Barbeque,

 

I love you more than Hi-C gummies,

beef jerky,

Canadian Bacon on a good pizza,

chicken wings or chili on a cold night,

 

I love you more than a beautiful sunrise,

a gorgeous sunset,

the colors after a light spring rain,

a smooth flowing river full of fish,

– unless you are there with me – then I love you for the collective                                                                     beauty of you and nature.

I love you….completely,

I love you….wholeheartedly,

I love you….period.

_____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

A Leaf

 

Walking down the sidewalk

I stopped as the mist rose

Watching a leaf fall

Through the mist.

 

I am like that leaf

Floating softly over the paths

of yesterday.

 

Observing much,

but saying little,

Of what I would like to say.

 

Someone kicks me,

I fly off to see tomorrow,

In another place,

Not knowing where I’m bound.

____________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

If I Had A Wish

 

If I had a wish that I could wish

I would wish that you would always love me.

 

If I had another wish that I could wish

I would wish that you would be with me forever.

 

If you had a wish that you could wish

Would you wish that I would always love you?

 

If you had a wish that you could wish

Would you wish that I would be with you forever?

 

If you have had that wish that you could wish

Then your wish has come true –

And so has the wish that I would wish if I had a wish.

 

I Love You.

_______________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

He walked through the streets in darkness,

Homeless but not alone,

A man on a mission of reverence

beyond the mundane chore of survival,

in a spirit of grace and mercy.

___

He stopped at Johnson’s Laundry

With it’s Closed for Christmas sign,

He knelt on the sidewalk outside the door,

Quietly saying the Lord’s Prayer,

the only prayer he knew.

___

Thanking “Papa” Johnson

For the clothes left unclaimed,

He left a small package – a crude, homemade cross

With a card on which was scrawled,

“Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

___

Next was Garcia’s Grocery

For the leftovers not yet spoiled

He knelt and prayed –

Another crude cross,

And the card, “Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

___

Ten blocks later, Miller’s Hardware,

For his sturdy, cardboard box dwelling,

and timber for his bed,

A kneel, a prayer, a larger crude cross,

And the card, “Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

___

Too far from home, the mission closed,

He found a bench in the park,

after a passerby bought coffee

and he walked – recalling forgotten memories –

without knowing what they meant.

___

Early the next morning on Christmas Day,

he fought the wind and rain,

through the cold streets to the mission,

where Christmas dinner was served, the soul sustained,

and life again had purpose.

___

The rain stopped, the wind died down,

as he trekked on home,

home – an alley behind the church

white and made of stone,

with a view of the cross on the wall.

___

He turned into the alley

and stopped in his tracks.

Where his cardboard box had stood,

was a sturdy lumber shack,

with a roof, a window, and a door.

___

He opened the door to a sturdy wooden cot,

An orange crate table, his few possessions inside,

with something new on top.

A suit of clothes hung on a hook,

with the laundry marker still on it.

___

He closed the door because he could,

he’d forgotten what it felt like.

Walking to the table he turned on the lamp,

it had been years since he had his own light,

but then his breath went away.

___

Also on the table sat a Bible, brand new,

inscribed with a name he hadn’t used in years,

next to a picture of a family he’d forgotten he had.

He stood staring at them, his mind racing,

memories bombarding his thoughts.

___

He sat on the cot and picked up the Bible,

after staring at the picture a while.

He ran his fingers over the only thing he owned

that wasn’t worn by wear or weather,

with emotions he couldn’t control.

___

Through tears, with shaking hands,

he opened the Bible and read

“Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

___________________________

© 2009  Daniel L. Roark

Merry Christmas!

Peace be with you.

Merry Christmas from Jesus

He walked through the streets in darkness,
Homeless but not alone,
A man on a mission of reverence
beyond the mundane chore of survival,
in a spirit of grace and mercy.

He stopped at Johnson’s Laundry
With it’s Closed for Christmas sign,
He knelt on the sidewalk outside the door,
Quietly saying the Lord’s Prayer,
the only prayer he knew.

Thanking “Papa” Johnson
For the clothes left unclaimed,
He left a small package – a crude, homemade cross
With a card on which was scrawled,
“Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

Next was Garcia’s Grocery
For the leftovers not yet spoiled
He knelt and prayed –
Another crude cross,
And the card, “Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

Ten blocks later, Miller’s Hardware,
For his sturdy, cardboard box dwelling,
and timber for his bed,
A kneel, a prayer, a larger crude cross,
And the card, “Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

Too far from home, the mission closed,
He found a bench in the park,
after a passerby bought coffee
and he walked – recalling forgotten memories –
without knowing what they meant.

Early the next morning on Christmas Day,
he fought the wind and rain,
through the cold streets to the mission,
where Christmas dinner was served, the soul sustained,
and life again had purpose.

The rain stopped, the wind died down,
as he trekked on home,
home – an alley behind the church
white and made of stone,
with a view of the cross on the wall.

He turned into the alley
and stopped in his tracks.
Where his cardboard box had stood,
was a sturdy lumber shack,
with a roof, a window, and a door.

He opened the door to a sturdy wooden cot,
An orange crate table, his few possessions inside,
with something new on top.
A suit of clothes hung on a hook,
with the laundry marker still on it.

He closed the door because he could,
he’d forgotten what it felt like.
Walking to the table he turned on the lamp,
it had been years since he had his own light,
but then his breath went away.

Also on the table sat a Bible, brand new,
inscribed with a name he hadn’t used in years,
next to a picture of a family he’d forgotten he had.
He stood staring at them, his mind racing,
memories bombarding his thoughts.

He sat on the cot and picked up the Bible,
after staring at the picture a while.
He ran his fingers over the only thing he owned
that wasn’t worn by wear or weather,
with emotions he couldn’t control.

Through tears, with shaking hands,
he opened the Bible and read
“Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”

Peace be with you.

Where was God when disaster struck?

God was with the baby who survived
because her window
was the only one in the house
that did not implode.

God was there to comfort
the woman who lost everything
she owned, and most
of her family.

God was with the family
who stuck together
during the tragedy
and survived – together.

God was with the family members
who were separated
before the disaster,
but found each other safe.

God was with the people
who – despite injury and loss –
helped others who could not
assist themselves.

God was there with the families
of the victims
helping them to deal with
the question of why?

God was there with the family
of those who may have caused
the disaster and who are
struggling to understand.

God was there with grace
to pour upon those affected
and help them to carry on
despite unexpected change.

God was there.

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