Poems

in her own private hell.

belately working
13 february 2004
Kathy Kerrihard

okay, we'll figure that out....I am feeling hopelessly sleepy right now, I was actually falling asleep sitting here.... maybe some snacks will help when I get home....ten more minutes and I am out of here....I am ......becomimg.........inco.......................herent.........my eyes....are...so ...heavy.................I am falling.............................into a deep cloud..............a deep deep cloud..............nine more minutes........a deep cloud...so peaceful....so quiet..........so inviting......my mind is a pillow.......I must close....my...eyes........I must put my head down......a big pillow..a deep cloud......six more minutes..........five more...pillows.......my eyes are so heavy......my mind is a pillow............my eyes are a cloud.........my mind is five more minutes...my eyes..a pillow......four more eyes...my mind is a minute...a pink cloud.....a must put my eyes down.....three more minds..a pillow..a........a......a..............

christopher Kaleidoscope
25 march 2004
Kathy Kerrihard

To Christopher Kaleidoscope,
Your mind is a dance of shifting images
And colors and objects,
Pieces of beauty, fragments of pain
Feelings forming
And dissolving
In a wink and a blink
In a thousand directions
Converging on me
Hi Sweets!
How are you doing today?
Do I get a kiss?
Do I get a smile?
Tell me a poem.
Let me hear your deep red thoughts
That come from behind the beautiful blue-grays
Your silver shining eyes
That glisten like kaleidoscopes
Like sharp sparkling razors
Like flashing stars
That hold such power
That betray such sadness
That reach out with such hunger
And are filled with such longing
That can ignite with such heat
That can laugh with such sweetness
Oh Christopher, be with me
Let me be your mirror
Let us gently place the fragments together
Like a living, moving, breathing puzzle
So you can behold your own self
So we can see the beauty and light
So that I can look in your mirror
And see myself there too
Christopher Kalaidoscope
Your mind is dance of objects and colors
And a swirling point of consciousness
A burning twirling light
Searching for love
Searching for me.�

I Now Know

jan-feb 2006
Jason Gray

Words reflect your inner soul,

Cold and bitter, sometimes true;

Lack of feeling is your goal,

You spoke, unbelieving I really knew.

Warmth could not attempt the thaw,

Your labor unceasingly, upon the wall;

You told me but I never saw,

Words cruelly bitter screaming the call.

I should've listened to spoken truth,

Your speech coming out, watching the stars;

A fortune teller or maybe a sooth,

Stuttering words among the cars.

I felt my love would break the spell,

And win your precious heart to me;

Panic of closeness, hearing the bell,

Yet I was blind, never to see.

Your hatred is pure,

As white as snow;

Venom of heart is the cure,

Pain and hurt is what you know.

chris
june 15, 20086
Jason Gray

Seeing humor at every turn,
Pun's laughter helps me learn;
Time visited brings it back,
Your presence we sadly lack.

I grasp each precious moemnt,
Now realizing the time is lent;
Trying to bury misplaced sorrow,
Still wishing more weeks to borrow.

Knowing to live only the now,
Enjoying jokes time will allow;
I really missed you more than I knew,
And want you to know I love you.

the dance of the mayfly

june 15, 2008 (Sunday, Father's Day)
In honor and memory of dear old Dad, Benjamin Thurmond Gray
Edan Gray

When I was quite young and no more than a lad,
I got to go fishing along with my dad.
It was a warm day and so filled with great dreams,
Of landing a big trout on my favorite of streams.

The worms were all ready and grasshoppers, too,
Hooks tied into place and a lure or two.
We fished all the morning, afternoon and some more,
I landed three trout while my father caught four.

As we sat on the bank eating a late lunch,
I noticed a bug swarm, not a few, but a bunch.
They're adult mayflies Dad said, they live but a day,
So there's no time to waste, they've got to make hay.

The fleeting, frenzied, frenetic dance,
The dance of the mayfly.

As I pondered the futility and horrible strife,
Of a sad hopeless fate, of such a short life.
It seemed so unfair, a raw deal that plain stank,
Then suddenly, a gaping maw carved through the main rank.

One after the other mayflies were gobbled up,
As the leaping trout rose to feast and to sup.
The massive slaughter filled me with unmatched despair,
How could life be so brutal, so ruthless, not care?

We went to return down the trails we'd come by,
I held back a tear, grabbed my gear, would not cry.
Weary and ashamed I let all the baits go free,
My legs dragged like lead weights, then Dad spoke to me.

The desperate, deadly, dying dance,
The dance of the mayfly.

You know son though it's very sad to see,
They're really no different than you or me.
Life is too short no matter who you are,
A dancing mayfly or a shooting star.

So let us enjoy what time we have,
Like a day out fishing, son and dad.
A moment well spent with family and friends,
Time heals all wounds and time painfully mends.

And as we went home to grab a bite,
His words they filled me with pride and might.
A lesson never forgotten to this very day,
Just how precious life is in it's every way.

The beautiful, wondrous, defiant dance,
The dance of the mayfly .