The minds eye,
It sees so fine,
Whenever we,
Let it unwind.
It tells us stories,
Of long ago.
It tells us of
The ebb and flow.
Follow through
Your inward dreams,
To find the light,
That brightly beams.
You may flounder,
In the mist…
Until you see,
All that you’ve missed.
CAWatson05/06/09
Out of the mind, comes the poetry,
That flows through the fingertips,
In such a tingling way.
While, the heart holds the mystery,
That makes the body gently sway.
CAWatson
11/05/2009
“All man’s miseries derive from not being able to sit quietly in a room alone”
– Blaise Pascal
Ahh, in and out,
Of life’s lagoons,
We wane and wax,
As do silvery moons.
Each wanting more,
Then we may hold.
Each wanting love,
That is strong and bold.
CAWatson09/24/2009
He had purple sage in his saddle bag,
It was a strange thing to see.
He also had character and ethics,
Those are important to me.
He walked straight to my park bench.
Then he snuggled right down.
This man was making a ‘move’ on me,
Right here in the center of town.
I can still hear his low voice,
His words were something like this,
“If you’re new to these parts,
I’d be proud to show you around, Miss.”
I had a cowboy sitting besides me.
This was a very strange day.
I was shocked, yet so delighted,
My mind didn’t know what to say.
My voice finally poured out,
“Thank you, that’s so kind of you.”
While my heart eased its racing,
I frantically searched for what to do.
Then he stood up abruptly,
Kindly reached for my hand.
My knees were so weak,
I was fearful to stand.
He walked me down main street.
Telling me of its riddled past.
Then, he took me to dinner,
The day flew by so fast.
He was a true Waddie,
A drifting hired hand.
His heart was as big as Texas,
He was an amazing man.
He told me stories of sunshine,
Stories of crippling rain.
The beauty of a new calf,
Then some times of death and pain.
He told me of the blue skies.
The sweat running down your back.
The ice cold winter mornings,
When a guy eats a second stack.
The days are good and bad,
As most days usually are.
But there’s ethics to his living,
That the city’s lost, so far.
It’s a simple type of living.
It’s doing what you should.
It’s taking care of critters,
It’s chopping and stacking wood.
There aren’t any games about it.
They do what needs to be done.
The hours aren’t always easy,
Yet, there’s still time for fun.
He said he’d soon be leaving,
He said he’d be back in sweet May.
He said he might even settle down,
If I’d share another day….
CAWatson09/05/09
Tell me of vile old men
With hearts so cold.
Their pudgy fingers,
Hoarding all the gold.
They give you diamonds,
In the light of the moon,
Their wives sleep restless,
In another room.
Tell me stories
Of how they build and burn.
How they use the people,
From whom they learn.
How they make an empire,
Out of others souls,
How their greed and lust,
Oozes out their pores.
Tell me how,
We can bring them down.
Let me watch them in,
Their own greed drown.
CAWatson08/20/2009
Let’s dance another dance,
Let’s sing another song.
We’ll gather around the piano,
While we all sing along.
It’s been a great party,
I hate to see you run.
Let’s have another laugh,
Before the evenings done.
We think this time is casual,
Yet, it’s memories soon to be.
Then, I’ll smile and think of you,
Will you smile and think of me?
CAWatson08/20/2009
On tranquil nights,
When all is still,
Except for the Whip-poor-wills
Repetitive twill.
I take a lean back,
To see where I’ve been,
Smiling at odd adventures,
I’ll share with my friend.
Oh, life is full,
It’s a twist, then a turn.
The answer lies,
In what you learn.
Our paths, they wander,
Both left and right,
Some so sad,
Others a true delight.
I’ve been truly lucky,
Through all the years,
It’s like dancing in a garden,
Without any fears.
Oh, struggles, sure,
A few heartaches, too,
While the thread in my life,
Has been strong and true.
So, sing your song,
Dear Whip-poor-will.
As I breathe in nature,
Here, on my hill.
CAWatson08/20/2009
Remember the picture chart of man?
Prehistoric on the left to the present on the right.
I met one of the early ones,
He was at a club the other night.
Should I tell the police?
Would a scientist recognize him at first sight?
He wore more clothing.
Everything else was the same.
His words were crude,
He seemed to have a small brain,
It dwelt within his large forehead.
I never really got his name.
Do some humans grow,
While others digress?
Are we here for the same reasons,
Or are others needing to strive less?
Perhaps, it’s not who we are,
It’s merely about doing our best.
CAWatson 08/16/2009
