Who I Am

If I’m over six feet tall with blue eyes…
That’s not who I am.
If my extra weight is hard to disguise…
That’s not who I am.
If I have all that money buys…
That’s not who I am.
If I’m smart with powerful allies,
That’s not who I am.
If I’ve seen the world as far as a plane flies…
That’s not who I am.
If I love cheese burgers and French fries…
That’s not who I am.

I am a comfort when someone cries…
That’s who I am.
I loosen painful, sorrowful ties…
That’s who I am.
I offer consolation when someone dies…
That’s who I am.
I am a help for each who tries…

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Adversity

Adversity, adversity, how strange is your fate.
To most it’s loss and sorrow compounded by a spate
Of shallow glances, lost chances
Nourishing doubts and fears,
With ignominious ignorance,
Washed down by gushing tears.
For these sad souls adversity is a cruel happenstance.
Even before its advent they were afforded little chance.
Though adversity, intrinsically favors neither side,
Some souls advance… even enhance their dance,
While all others continue their downward slide.
This august group knows adversity by another name.
Adversity and opportunity to them sound much the same.
Travails, trauma, thunder clouds are all ways they learn.
Journeys unclear and dangers near they miss not a turn
In their effort to bestow good fortune they have received
So less fortunate souls may sense what it is to be relieved.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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Here & There

Oh Mother Dear it doesn't seem fair
That we're still down here and you're way up there.
Another thing that's not a favorite of mine
Is that chronologically I seem to be next in line.

Now that you're in heaven please say hi to Dad.
Tell him I'm still bitter ‘bout the Hole-In-One he had.
I've been playing this pitiful game almost forever.
He played once; made one and for me it's been never.

As for the joker who talked about the 'Golden Years, '
It was brown stuff, not gray matter, between his ears.
When I get up in the morning and gaze into the mirror.
I cringe at that old man as he moves ever nearer.

Dear Mother, please put in a good word for us here
Because without you it's hard to smile and cheer.
As our Mom you'll always be the best and most rare.
You'll live here in our hearts tho you're way up there.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Be Different

Life can be a series of repetitive acts any frog can do.
Unless your acts are more than sedative, you’re sure to sink from view.
Your 15 minutes can extend forever or be 15 seconds of slack.
Every day, as you forge your way, not one second will ever come back.

So try something different; take a risk; do what’s not your style.
Might find this test will bring out the best that you’ve felt for awhile.
Don’t be afraid to trade what you know for something that you don’t.
If there’s a surprise, you may be wise to put “will” in place of “won’t”.

The past moves fast, so why shackle the future with its faults?
Learn what’s new; change points-of view; initiate friendly assaults.
Let birds, bees, flowers and trees do the same thing every spring.
But don’t forget as man you can do just about anything.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Menace Of Mediation

Mediation is a monster when maliciously misused,
Devouring good but weak who are sadly confused.
If mediators have agendas or favor either side,
Their use in any negotiations must be disqualified.

In this maudlin world of misfits accusers often lie
To feather plaintiff pockets with what they can pry.
Truth never was their mantra and honesty a lost art.
Yet wins are easier aided by good but weak hearts.

When sacrificing truth to make risk “go away”
Risks will grow ever greater and society will pay
A higher price as evil becomes the alternative
As winning supplants right as the only way to live.

With just cause the strong will always state their case
Since squandering their chances will further deface
A legal maze where good but weak give up their say
Trying to avoid risk, but sadly aiding injustice today.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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War in America

In this sad country there will be a bitter war,
Not from foreign peoples who would attack us,
But between our very rich and hopeless poor.

There’ll be death and destruction as the war rages,
While wealthy choke the waning middle class.
As history repeats the tragic Dark Middle Ages.

When the middle class has only bitterness and hate,
Opportunities for peace will then be too late.
When they realize that the rich will never yield,
They’ll take their hopes and causes to the battle field.

The rich will have the best arms that money can buy.
The power of the poor will be in their angry numbers
And their desire to effect changes in their lots or die.

Man can go to the moon, create an internet, cure cancer.
But put rich politicians with no conscience in a room;
They’ll languish and war in America will be the answer.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Cow and the Sow

The grazing Guernsey cow said to the wiggly-eared sow,

“Is it because of all your babies that you’re happy now? ”

The wiggle-eared sow thought as her babies had their meal.

Then said, “Happiness is from inside me. It’s just how I feel.”

I love my babies as they root and squirm with thirst.

They add to my happiness, but it starts in my heart first.

Well, the grazing Guernsey was confused and did fret.

She was unhappy with herself since she had no babies yet.

The wiggly-eared sow sensed the grazing cow was sad

And said, “You’re beautiful and of that you should be glad.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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An Unknown Force

I’m not sure what to believe.
Each people has its own.
I think there’s greater power
Than anyone has ever known.
Marvels from atom to universe
Manifest incredible design;
As sperm and egg have guidance
The instant they entwine.

Man calls it many things
Like Allah, Buddha and God.
It’s an unknown force
Which in a single nod
Could improve man’s lot,
Ceasing war, disease and strife.
Then would man have meaning
With no challenges in life?

This force has no timetable.
Past, present and future are one.

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poem by Gregory Huyette
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Dirty Four Letter Word

In this age of technology, profitability and such
There just isn't time to be nice very much.
Besides what does it get you when you try to be nice?
Honking from behind? Hand gestures once or twice?

Lately have you seen a person let someone go first?
What did you do the last time your role was reversed?
Billions are spent to sell all the things you see.
But being nice costs nothing; it’s absolutely free.
Yet being nice has the power to win over everyone.

All will marvel from its spell since it’s seldom done.
Sadly, each day seems colder as an ill wind does blow.
History tells us that this route is a tragic way to go.
Though there is hope if all try to do their part

To be kind in word and deed directly from the heart.
Only then can we expect a world not so absurd
That now seems to label the term “nice”
A dirty four lettered word!

poem by Gregory Huyette
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Stealth, Health and Wealth

Stealth, health and wealth, each a curious breed
Are not such strange bedfellows indeed.
Stealth, with its cunning and mysterious ways,
Escapes notice matter not the attention one pays.
With the suspicious this surreptitious wins in spite
Of all who strain for a glimpse of its sight.

Then there's health with its nefarious aim,
Favoring young and wealthy in its merciless game.
What justice is there as it forsakes the weak,
Choosing to stand by and laugh at the meek?
Or why does it change with no reason at all,
Ignoring vanquished victims imploring its call?

Now lastly take wealth, oh wealth so dear.
The worst irony of all may, indeed, lies here.
Many forfeit love and happiness for a chance
To tiptoe with this god in an all-too-short dance.
Then as stealth teams with wealth, it's time to pay
Costs of health escaping more notice every day.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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