GLOW

You have the GLOW, I saw it when I was just a little boy, some
women have it others don’t this GLOW has always fascinated
me.

The GLOW is kindness
The GLOW is heart
The GLOW is happiness
The GLOW is art
The GLOW is chance
The GLOW is wisdom
The GLOW is living
The GLOW is a start
The GLOW is harmony
The GLOW is poetry
The GLOW is freedom
The GLOW is smart
The GLOW is beautiful
The GLOW is life
The GLOW is you my love.

Memories 1

It’s sad when I think back and try to remember, I know
we were best friends, my mind tells me so, but it
plays tricks on me now.

I would like to remember, but memories have faded over
the years, a sign of growing older I guess.
I refuse that thought, It means I’m on
my way to being old, and I know that can’t be.

But life carries on, one step at a time and I do remember
being friends, but now just someone I know, an
acquaintance, with a family, kids, grand kids.

I now have memories from not so long ago which
I share with friends and family whose
memories grow old like mine,
till we come to the end.


http://www.charlesdennispoetry.netne.net

© 2009 Charles Dennis

Memory

I used to know who you were, that was long ago.
Are you still that same person?

I’m not. but it’s ok, there is no need to pretend,
just because we knew each other once,
I think they were good times then.

Then was a time I only remember bits and pieces
of, I remember good things, though
I’m sure there were bad times also.

But the brain is fickle now, I’m sure it knows now
what it knew before, but now hides from conscious
thought, for reasons I do not know.

What was your name?



http://www.charlesdennispoetry.netne.net

© 2009 Charles Dennis

Writers Block

As the washer clinks and clunks its way toward clean clothes.
I sit and think while listening to the rhythms of the machine
as it cleanses all. If it could only cleanse my mind of random
thoughts of nothing, that seem always to get in the way.

To clear a path to thoughts of substance, paving the way to
literary greatness, or at least a word that wiggles itself into
some mediocre write which I know shouldn’t have made it to
someone else's eyes.

I need that garbled clump of goop that feeds my appetite for
writing, as it dislodges remnants of times gone by, things that
are shaken loose from deep within my soul, while it agitates
and spins me in new and different directions.

It is what life has given me to work with, an abundance of
good and bad, new and old, fresh and stale, with a vehicle for
me to climb aboard to explore the deep recesses of my mind
and soul. It seems that vehicle stalls at times and hesitates
before it is able to start again and continue on its way.

To take me out of this non productive place I’m in, to that
crisp clean white piece of paper so my pen will flow to places
it’s never been.


http://www.charlesdennispoetry.netne.net

© 2009 Charles Dennis

Longing

I loved you long ago and I can see your face - it glows.
A photo maybe? Or a scene extracted from a play?
With love, I remember that day.

We sat, we talked, we laughed,
we loved, not in the physical sense, but we both
knew what we had done.

I don’t know where you are, what you’ve done or
where you live, but I would really love to
do what we once did.


© 2009 Charles Dennis


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

Dreams

I’ll watch the sky tonight and think of where I’d like to
be. I’ll gaze upon the stars, as stray moonlit clouds drift
high above like dreams.

Steady breezes blow the leaves tonight, as they scrape
and rub against each other, creating the soundtrack of
what once was and what will be.

My body, mind and soul, now as one, I ride upon the
dream filled clouds that float so high above.

I will not rush these moments. I’ll watch the sky to-
night, and gaze upon the stars, and think of
where I’d like to be.

I hope tomorrow, I’ll see my dreams drift
high above on moonlit clouds, but a little bit
closer, and not so far they’ll be.


http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

© 2009 Charles Dennis

Questions of a Poet

If there is a word that describes best what
poetry is, I would say intimate.

Is poetry intimate?

Are not all works of poetry?

Or are they just collections of words laid on paper in nice
organized ways, to make them look professional,
as if they make sense?

I would hope we as poets, writers, or those who think they
make literary sense would believe the former.

As we let our minds spill over onto paper words that flow,
flow from the heart, or flow from some deep secluded
place within our soul.

We scribble on scratch paper random thoughts, things that
make no sense, just so we can remember what we were
thinking in that fleeting feeble moment, only to throw it in
some over stuffed drawer to find some months later, and
then possibly throw back in.

I would say yes, this is intimate, revealing our most
vulnerable feelings of how and where the next valuable and
honest word will show its worth.

What greater joy could one experience, than to have an
affect on a persons life through words? Words that have
emerged from the deep recesses of our mind, body and soul
as if we had laid open our life for all to see, exposed our
self to the world, as couriers of all things good or bad.

Delivering hope and joy, sadness and pain, and answers to
some. We as poets splay out onto paper all of the things
that reside in all of us, only in that organized, unorganized
way that some can understand.

Poetry belongs to all who read it and translate these words
into any one of a thousand different meanings.

Are we poets? I can not say for certainty. Or are we just
another Joe who shows their life in words written in script
in hopes someone will find them?

I Do Not Know!

http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net

© 2009 Charles Dennis