Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

after Dylan

08 April 2014

 

 

don’t go all mental, it’s just a rewrite,

your words should burn if they’re just in the way;

they’re just words, edit to your heart’s delight.

 

the wisest poets know which words are right

for inspiration’s lightning strike they pray,

don’t go all mental, it’s just a rewrite.

 

good poets fret and wrestle with their fright.

such frail confidence, this dance, what we say,

they’re just words, edit to your heart’s delight.

 

Wild then, we catch and sing of words in flight,

And learn, too late, the price that we must pay,

don’t go all mental, it’s just a rewrite.

 

frayed nerves, near death, looming deadlines in sight,

blind eyes blaze like meteors night and day;

they’re just words, edit to your heart’s delight.

 

And you, my Muse, laugh from your lofty height,

Curse, bless, me now, what would your Wisdom say?

don’t go all mental, it’s just a rewrite,

they’re just words, edit to your heart’s delight.

 

 

written for Day 8 NaPoWriMo prompt

Do not go gentle – Dylan Thomas

 

 

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8 April, 2014 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

returning

18 August 2013

returning

 

As if I’ve always been returning here,

a place unknown until I arrived

where I truly belong has become clear.

 

I have wandered through life, both far and near,

treading water, but somehow I’ve survived.

As if I’ve always been returning here,

 

water reflects my soul like a mirror.

For the moment, inner peace is revived

where I truly belong has become clear.

 

I have been running, searching out of fear

struggling to swim upstream all of my life,

as if I’ve always been returning here.

 

I have tried to ignore the voice I hear,

always suspicious it spoke only lies.

Where I truly belong has become clear

 

I wish it didn’t take all of these years

to learn to let go of my foolish pride.

As if I’ve always been returning here,

where I truly belong has become clear.

18 August, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

paint softer colors

15 July 2013

paint softer colors

 

Paint softer colors for a troubled soul,

pretty pastels in shades of green and blue,

and pray for the broken to be made whole.

The warmth is gone, my heart knows nought but cold,

but if you would seek to comfort and soothe,

paint softer colors for a troubled soul.

As watercolors blend towards their goal,

I see what has been hidden from my view

and pray for the broken to be made whole.

The canvas waits, like a deep, empty hole,

to be filled by all I believe is true,

paint softer colors for a troubled soul.

Creative passion always takes its toll,

but no matter what, we must pay what’s due

and pray for the broken to be made whole.

I do believe we each must play our role,

my legacy of wisdom isn’t new,

paint softer colors for a troubled soul,

and pray for the broken to be made whole.

15 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

If I Could Would I

13 March 2013

If I Could, Would I

 

I’ll always wonder, if I could, would I

go back and change anything in my past,

regret nothing, or wallow in the lies

 

which will imprison me until I die?

Some choices always haunt me, questions asked,

I’ll always wonder, if I could, would I,

 

should I have chosen differently that time?

What ifs are a soul-less landscape, so vast,

Regret nothing, or wallow in the lies.

 

It’s hard to find the reason or the rhyme,

and understanding life is no small task,

I’ll always wonder, if I could, would I

 

want to know the answers to all my whys?

Perhaps some questions just should not be asked,

Regret nothing, or wallow in the lies.

 

I am who I am, that’s the bottom line,

and though nothing can ever change that fact,

I’ll always wonder, if I could, would I

Regret nothing, or wallow in the lies?

13 March, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

By Chance

09 March 2013

By chance

 

But secretly, I love you from afar,

a truth that I will never let you know

unless, by chance, you see into my heart.

 

My eyes are not a window to the part

of me that would reveal what’s in my soul,

But secretly, I love you from afar.

 

Who knows when I allowed this love to start,

I believe it’s something I must control,

unless, by chance, you see into my heart.

 

I guard against those casual remarks,

that might reveal far too much of the whole,

But secretly, I love you from afar.

 

I often make a wish on falling stars,

but I will never let my feelings show,

unless, by chance, you see into my heart.

 

I’ve kept this going, and it’s worked so far

but someday, perhaps you will let me know

that secretly, you’ve loved me from afar

perhaps, by chance, we might share our hearts?

9 March, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

All I should have said

22 November 2011

All I should have said

 

I have squandered words, unaware of need,

believing there was time to say it all,

but too much is left to memory’s seed.

 

A lifetime I’ve allowed my soul to bleed,

a slow trickling innocence, my cure-all

was in squandered words. Unaware of need,

 

my myopic view now proves so naïve.

I wish now I wasn’t a know-it-all,

but too much is left to memory’s seed.

 

Perhaps my mistakes, someone else might heed,

experience teaches best, after all.

I have squandered words, unaware of need,

 

oblivious to Time’s insatiable greed,

procrastinated fulfilling my call,

now too much is left to memory’s seed.

 

In retrospect, I would have to concede,

what I’ve allowed myself to say is small.

I have squandered words, unaware of need,

far too much is left to memory’s seed.

22 November, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

Wise

09 October 2011

Wise

 

In the end, perhaps, we learn nothing dies,

holding on to what was or might have been,

but, then, most of us never get that wise.

 

To see a truth, we must open our eyes

and look beyond what can only be seen

in the end. Perhaps we learn nothing dies,

 

but still we cling to our feeble disguise

as if we could fool ourselves once again,

but then most of us never get that wise.

 

We fear change, clinging to the same old lies,

reacting from a Self we can’t defend

in the end. Perhaps we learn nothing dies,

 

or perhaps, in innocence and surprise,

we hear more than just the words they’ve spoken,

but then most of us never get that wise.

 

I guess there’s much I’ve yet to realize.

Not all my questions will stand to reason.

I hope I keep learning until I die

that most of us never do get that wise.

9 October, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

Villanelle

06 June 2007

Villanelle

 

It is hard to relate

when things aren’t what they seem

in between love and hate.

 

Hearts so easily break,

and when wounds are unseen

it is hard to relate.

 

But, truth we learn to fake,

not saying what we mean

in between. Love and hate,

 

push, pull, we can’t escape

our never-ending scenes.

It is hard. To relate

 

under this heavy weight

is like trying to breathe

in between. Love and hate

 

are choices that we make:

whatever we believe,

it is hard to relate

in between love and hate.

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

Bitter pills

09 June 2006

Bitter Pills

 

At least I can pretend,

when midnight is this calm and still,

the war within might end.

 

As peacefulness descends,

with nighttime’s soothing, breathless chill,

at least I can pretend,

 

and try to comprehend

the mysteries of my freewill.

The war within might end,

 

if words alone could mend

old wounds, never healed, open still

— at least I can pretend.

 

Regrets are bitter friends.

Forgiveness is a useful skill —

the war within might end.

 

This silence recommends

I swallow all my bitter pills.

At least I can pretend,

the war within must end.

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