Tag Archives: Poetry

Wishful Thinking

Give him some days to gaze upon the week; a few hours to while-away his minutes. In time, he will realize the years of silence born out of his existence of being alone was futile. And out of the mist of nocturnal daydreaming, he will finally grasp the timeless maze of love.


Star stuff and God dust

When you wish upon a star, are you praying to god or God? Is it from the heart or your mind that you hope for an answer? Are they one and the same in time?

We come from star stuff say some wise folk. Others preach from dust we come and dust we go. Many wonder at the nature of life; so short does it shine – gathering within it time sublime while blind minds feast with no rhyme. Is there fire in the soul for both sights to please?

Out there, out there – in deep time somewhere – dare we dream of the journey of our beginning? Does that mean we start at the end; how should we compare? Will we know the peace of life that spills from within us? Shall we just bask in the dust sprinkles golden with truths many say we must.

When you wish upon a star, are you being real or trying to feel?  Is it from dreams hidden in your You;  sparking itself alive like mind-fire true. Glory! Star Stuff and God Dust – pray tell – it that you looking back from heaven upon yourself?  Or is it your heart telling you mind to get over itself and adjust.


“When your heart speaks, take good notes”  ——Unknown


Excerpt from “Rainbow Stories and Waterfall Men” – a collection of poems and prose.


Copyright(c) January, 2017. Roads, Paths and Trails. All Rights Reserved

The Gifts

Fan the fire in her eyes; nourish that dream in her heart –

Drench her mind in a golden ray of hope; as you wrap her soul in purpose.

Make sure she hears the wonders of time.

Guide her with the winds of passion;

Then give her your love to wear like a crown.



An excerpt from “Rainbow Stories and Waterfall Men” – a collection of poems and prose.


Copyright(c) January, 2017. Roads, Paths and Trails. All Rights Reserved

Looking out the window in the mirror

It was not something one sees every day. It was not a pretty site: his back was bent into sharp angles and his neck was marred with knots, ridges and scarring like leeches eating him alive. Contorted arms hung like scarecrow limbs. But what frightened him were the “black hole” eyes starting at him like pinpoints of pain. As he slowly looked down, he felt his knees wobble – legs rocked and leaned away from his control; he was – he was, inspired to think: what the hell? Why was this bright sunny day, blue-sky beautiful; with those puffy breaths of white clouds lazily hanging, drifting on the wind, showing him a hell-in-his-soul picture that was not real? What was his mind seeing if not God’s gift of a perfect day?

He rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away the foul image and thought as he sat down.  How many times had he stared out this window from his daddy’s favorite chair? It always nestled him in deep with its memories wrapped around him; comforting – familiar -filled with Daddy-Frye’s strength and sure-certainty that things would be alright with world. Why this morning had be been given such a horrid vision?  Who was saying what to him? He had to stand back up.  Had to get back up now! He leaned in close to the window ; touched it, rubbed the glass making sure it was solid, really there. Then he thought that maybe if he went outside and looked back through the window he would see his real world again.  As he shuffled and began to turn, he looked around and wondered why there was no door?


An excerpt from “Rainbow Stories and Waterfall Men” – a collection of poems and prose.


Copyright (c) January, 2017. Roads, Paths and Trails. All Rights Reserved.

Don’t Pass it on.

Gossip. Shades of the truth. Bits and pieces of hearsay or innuendo- a juicy tidbit here; a little dirt there. What could it hurt? Besides, someone else will do it; why shouldn’t I get in my two-cent worth? And so it begins: a lie embellished, and relished. A reputation tarnished, a job denied – a child isolated. A secret world of whispers designed to hurt. Hate filled, fear-based, malicious jealous words that harm.

Don’t pass it on.

That could be you on the dark end of that lie; the rumor which could destroy your heart. And hope. God made it a commandment; this bearing false witness- but many still believe a friend because they are a friend. They would not tell me an untruth – that would be so uncouth of her or him. So you remain silent and cowardly in your loyatly to them.

Don’t pass it on.

Those dark whispers that bury the light of fact. Sometime a thunderbolt of decency will undo the vile; it may take a while – it may be too late many times.  The nastiness may have ripened on the vines. So the secret putrid slime of a lie blossoms in too many minds.

Somewhere it has been said that “rumors are carried by haters, spread by fools, and accepted by idiots. That statement alone should be enough for us not to pass it on.


“Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people.”   ______Eleanor Roosevelt, former 1st Lady of the United States of America, 1932 – 1944

Cast your fate to the wind

A song* was named with these words. Though it was produced as an instrumental as well, it spoke to a great many hearts and minds.

So I wondered:

How does one do this?  On a whim; on that wing and a prayer?  When does one’s heart tell you to go there, to somewhere – over the rainbow, maybe? Or down in the valley so low; you just have to go, you can’t say no.  I want to know, how is it so?

Why gather your soul and wade in the water not knowing how cold and deep; or if it’s boiling with heat – me I couldn’t make that leap. I guess you can chalk it up to cold feet.

Can I get a witness to such a fearful feat?

Tell me true, now, for I am the town-crier vowed to spread the word.  Present you story clearly, freely, so that it may be heard.  Touch me with your passion; take me soaring with your reason – give to us, friend, some memory for a long season.

Judge you not, I promise you that.  But others may not feel as I do; such actions that you took. To them it might be hard to defend; because not everyone has it in them, to cast their fate to the wind.

*Cristo Redento” by Vince Guaraldi’s Trio owns all rights to this song. The title to this piece is in no way intended to disparage or use those words for gain or exploitation. This expression is public domain and as such available for use.

All other aspects of this post are Copyrighted (c) by Roads, Paths, & Trails, 2015. All rights reserved.

Judgement’s Way

You thought without thinking, you really meant no harm – mouthing some words that seem to have charm. Never, no never did time and distance offer a different yarn; your mind just reacted with the familiar – damn, oh, darn.

Try as you may, there does not seem a way to save the day. Though, not a day rolls away that I haven’t prone to pray, that perhaps today is when the bleak, dreary clouds fall away; it’s all I can do, it’s all I can say.

Somewhere in our world, a greeting is not the same for you and I; it might mean goodbye, come again, or just plain, “hi.” How does one know what is right and wrong to a different eye. this is why they say, “look before you leap” without thinking why.

A grave harm is done when you poke at a dream; not knowing what it means – no heartless song were you trying to sing. It was just a time old “saying” of softly noting a cautious thing. Still, life’s long way of growing should have halted the sting.

One can wail and wail to be atoned; beat on stone, pound one’s heart with an god-awful groan; torment, ferment, repent if your mind found the right song. It’s really true as they say, “sticks and stones will break a bone,” but I am here to say – being unforgiving is a hurt to bemoan.

Copyright (c) 2015. Roads, Paths, & Trails. All rights reserved.