Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

Radio

21 September 2011

Radio

 

Someone was playing the radio,

reviving ghosts from their restless sleep.

As I sang and danced through memories,

I longed for the good ol’ days again.

 

Reviving ghosts from their restless sleep,

I recall her face, her hair, her smile.

I longed for the good ol’ days again,

when love was still innocent and new.

 

I recall her face, her hair, her smile,

the way it felt to touch her and kiss,

when love was still innocent and new

and each song said what was in our hearts.

 

The way it felt to touch her and kiss,

nothing is lost or unforgotten

and each song still says what’s in my heart

even now after so much time. When

 

nothing is lost or unforgotten,

as I sing and dance through memories,

even now after so much time, when

someone is playing the radio.

21 September, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

Conundrum

31 March 2010

Conundrum

 

love can be studied, never understood,

analyze it, dissect it into parts,

is it an action? is it just a mood?

is it in our head? is it in our heart?

 

analyze it, dissect it into parts,

the more we think we know, the less we do.

is it in our head? is it in our heart?

and who’s to ever say when love is true?

 

The more we think we know, the less we do,

we can’t predict the future anymore

and who’s to ever say when love is true?

promises bend and break in love and war.

 

we can’t predict the future anymore,

and yet we claim our love will never change.

promises break and bend in love and war,

the only truth is nothing stays the same.

 

and yet we claim our love will never change,

is it an action? is it just a mood?

the only truth is nothing stays the same,

love can be studied, never understood.

31 March, 2010 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

Pier Reflections

28 December 2005

Pier Reflections

 

How long have I been sitting here?

time seems a worthless measure,

waves pound against this wooden pier,

a fury mixed with pleasure.

 

time seems a worthless measure,

here there’s nothing, just earth and sky,

a fury mixed with pleasure,

unceasing rhythm of the tide.

 

here there’s nothing, just earth and sky.

what am I within the all?

unceasing rhythm of the tide,

an eroding stubborn wall.

 

what am I within the all?

how little ego seems to me —

an eroding stubborn wall

clinging to identity.

 

how little ego seems to me,

waves pound against this wooden pier,

clinging to identity,

how long have I been sitting here?

12 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

As midnight chimes (alternate form)

19 April 2005

 

as midnight chimes from the grandfather clock,

I sit in silence in my chair out back –

a quiet moment to pause and take stock,

contemplating what I have, yet still lack.

 

I sit in silence in my chair out back –

listening to the stars whisper their songs,

contemplating what I have, yet still lack,

wondering where I might truly belong.

 

listening to the stars whisper their songs,

memories emerge from caverns within.

wondering where I might truly belong,

I’m lost in my past, condemned by its whims.

 

memories emerge from caverns within,

tempting my return to what used to be.

I’m lost in my past, condemned by its whims,

imprisoned by chains of melancholy.

 

tempting my return to what used to be,

a quiet moment to pause and take stock,

imprisoned by chains of melancholy,

as midnight chimes from the grandfather clock.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

As midnight chimes

19 April 2005

 

as midnight chimes from the grandfather clock,

I sit in silence in this chair out back –

a quiet moment to pause and take stock,

contemplating what I have, yet still lack.

 

I sit in silence in this chair out back –

wishing life’s detours were not such a shock,

contemplating what I have, yet still lack,

waiting for each opportunities knock.

 

wishing life’s detours were not such a shock,

memories speak honestly with no tact.

waiting for each opportunities knock,

I keep trying not to step on the cracks.

 

memories speak honestly with no tact

and time streams over the roughest of rocks.

I keep trying not to step on the cracks,

and the Fool in his wisdom smiles and mocks.

 

and time streams over the roughest of rocks,

A quiet moment to pause and take stock,

and the Fool in his wisdom smiles and mocks

as midnight chimes from the grandfather clock.

4 October, 2009 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment