Shades of Gray

for some who face
this complex life
sharp lines divide
the good and bad

all is wrong
that is not right
what not divine
from evil born

there is no room
for calm dissent
no right to doubt
the cherished law

if in their mind
the matter rests
they cannot bear
another view

but would we not
be better served
by eyes attuned
to shades of gray

Metaphor

some must write
in prose obscure
to make you think
or so they say

but why not pen
what thoughts arise
in simple terms
that all might hear

I guess to ask
would be in vain
for artists know
what peers adore

they write what we
cannot absorb
and so their work
receives acclaim

and I would try
to share that style
if clever lines
could soothe my soul

Two

some moments
only two share
words expressed
emotions bare

locked in time
memories dwell
but do they rise
in her as well

November

drifting leaves
the scent of smoke
shorter days
toward winter lead

in the woods
a barren look
where silence builds
before the dark

but on the lakes
a lively scene
as ducks and geese
escape the snow

across the fields
the weathered stalks
where voles and quail
reclaim the spoil

and in the skies
the raptors soar
intent to cull
the weak and old

War

since man could hate
these battles rage
for glory sought
and power gained

declared by those
in safe retreat
their legions sent
to fight and die

and those who live
forever scarred
their bodies torn
their minds betrayed

though other means
might better serve
a force of will
is what we choose

if over time
our motives fade
a treaty signed
a victor hailed

though many young
are lost in vain
these wars endure
no lesson learned

Grade School

I see the black garb
the white edging
the heavy beads
and hairless crowns

I see scowling faces
and waving arms
hear painful words
and dire threats

they were fear mongers
the righteous ones
blessed as they were
and empowered by god

The Critic

a brilliant mind
though talents few
raised to know
his words are gold

from his fans
a power gained
for artists all
a fickle fate

for through his eyes
their work unfolds
a hopeless quest
or cherished gift

pursued by some
his favor gained
for in his hands
their fate may lie

creative works
cannot escape
his focused words
his critical mind

Public Saints

beads in hand
they pace the walk
sending prayers
for crimes within

rain or snow
a silent watch
their righteous stand
a public scene

for they proclaim
that life is life
and only god
can halt its course

but do they house
an unloved child
or open hearts
to shattered teens

for it they don't
these saints ignore
the pain and strife
their words demand

Remembrance

what thoughts arose
as they drifted north
perhaps of the game
or of tackles missed

perhaps of parties
planned that eve
or a promise to keep
the following day

perhaps of a future
ever so bright
a career to unfold
or children unborn

who would know
those plans were moot
to die in youth
that very day

and now as I ponder
that night long ago
when death seemed closer
than ever before

I cannot desire
more than I have
my life so full
their's cut by fate

Dreams

fragments of life
remembered or not
surface in sleep
beyond our control

persons loved
and others feared
crowd the scene
against our will

unleashed thoughts
in slumber rise
that when awake
would chill our soul

connections vague
in senseless plots
the mind unloads
what life instilled

Snow Geese

high overhead
white on blue
high pitched calls
turn eyes from below

riding the wind
cold in their wake
off to the coast
freedom on the wing