Like a blade of grass
~ i ~
yet so full of life
On my Mind in the 70’s: Pollution, City Expansion, Violence, A Frightening Future
Exhaust dripping into lungs
heavy grey dominating blue;
Rushing on to keep the pace,
killing brothers, raping sisters;
Candle lighting the dark starry night,
children running through green meadows,
mother smiling, joy of another birth;
Seems to be.
Thrash the trash
but don’t pick it up
for then you’ll be
Strive to be alive
but don’t care for others
for again you’ll be
Waste in bad taste
but don’t conserve
for still you’ll be
Short Thought on a Stone Heart
hurting those who wish no strife.
Blinded to life’s pain and tears,
hidden in forgotten years.
Also on my mind in the 70’s: Love! I was always an Idealist, now more tempered with reality though.
Excerpt from a Sonnet
. . . Love has no demon it cannot withstand,
though youth and beauty are caught in time’s sand.
our dream come true-
venturing from the old
to meet the new-
Green mountains, green prairies
and skies of blue-
Next barren deserts with a
Lord, I’m so happy;
you love me
I love you, too.
So you’re no longer sure –
Alright, go and think it out;
but remember, all hard times pass.
We have a good love –
and so much more,
that if, in the midst of our pleasure
there comes a doubt,
we can pause to think –
then appreciate one another again;
for we know that all hard times pass.
When you’re home again,
I’ll love you.
When you’re gone again,
I’ll love you still.
I’ll love you until
You’ll love me, too,
because love mends.
. . . And there were the inevitable teen-love break-ups. . .
After the pain of each day’s commotions
I settle without you to a rush of emotions
and closing my eyes with feelings intense
I face the reality of your absence
Can’t understand ~ just get congested
with your sweet love my heart is infested
We should be together, you know it too.
You love me, I love you
The aroma of this fresh new day
reminds me of before
and forces me to reminisce
on love I can’t ignore
A freshened breeze whips at my back
I see the fog ahead
Grappling for imagined bliss
My dreaming path is tread
Awaiting for this day to rise
in my future thoughts of past
Joan at Seventeen