I Dream Of Always
I dream.
I am a peaceful, serene man.
I know so little,
But I care so much.
In my dream
I write some,
And realize I have wronged some,
I try to right my wrongs with my writing;
And thereby, I find deep joy
In a gentle moment in nature
Speaking with a beautiful solitary flower,
My deepest thoughts I feel no need to describe or defend,
As I talk calmly with this my true friend.
In my dream
God sits happily with me,
Quietly we converse.
Together we write, together we read,
I listen, He reads me.
Such deep joy we here know.
In these mystic moments
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Metaphors of A Free Poet
Leaves shine their best
In the fall,
When they are dying.
Days grown cold
Are left behind,
While the sky comes around to crying.
Shadows can only show
True beauty,
Scattered in rays of the sun's light.
While nature's darkest picture
Is the moon hidden behind clouds,
On a chilled and rainy night.
What sets the soul
Of the poet free?
- the lack of law to conformity -
To bend and blend at will
Time with eternity;
Outter inspiration with inner ability.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Old Poets
The old poets
sit drinking and conversing.
Speaking with long words; parts
of forgotten phrases, and occasional cursing.
There was among them another day, when
they thought they knew
precisely what to say, what to do.
But time, with the help of wine
has taken up the words.
Stealing their once steady voice
no longer the stronger, nor even again to be heard.
Now, the old poets gather round early
in narrow dusty bars, looking
far off, and puffing fat cigars.
Satisfied to simply sit and sip, upon
the failing wine, and fleeting time.
Watching, as both run dangerously low, like
the finish of a long and
melancholy picture show.
Time and wine, words and birds, all
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Name
My name you don't know,
you don't know.
And where I go,
you won't go, oh no.
I'm on my way,
on my way.
I'm going there this very day,
this very day, all the way.
And I'll get there all alone,
all alone.
When I arrive I'll be home,
I'll be home, and not alone.
When I go through that door,
that front door, one thing's for sure;
She'll be awaiting there,
waiting there, oh so fine and fair.
Well I told you all I'd go,
oh now, I told you so;
don't go hanging your head so low.
My time and energy were all spent,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Wise Words
Those old still waters
Run deep
When wisdom is the word
We keep -
Way up
Way down
And everything
All around -
The dark
The light
Into day, and
Out of night -
The wink of an eye
Watching clouds fly by
Sheds tears upon the sun
For the day that's all done -
Sing along
Words of a living song
With the strangers you've yet to meet
Down an untravelled street -
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Unfinished Dream
Unfinished dreams
Lay immured in melancholy
-the saddest mystery, of all human folly-
The feeling like fall
I can't seem to lose,
It smells of ancient memories
And undone blues.
So much longed for
Is recalled no more,
It has all came and went
Like a maudlin dream, unspent.
What can they mean,
These fading, unfinished dreams?
Brought upon clouds of blue
Drifting by, always just out of view;
Unfinished dreams
Are memories lined with a purity of love as yet unseen;
Like friends I know, yet don't, and
Friends I wish to know, fearing I won't,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Homeless
Homeless;
- Down by the muddy Mississippi
Skinny as a rail,
Sleeping under the old Eads bridge
Feeling low, dirty, and frail -
Homeless;
- With less than two coins
In both pockets,
Empty eyes
Look through sunken sockets -
Homeless;
- So many people walk right on by
I wonder how many care,
They all keep moving
Even though they stare -
Homeless;
- Lost a job
Lost a home,
Lost a family
Lost all hope -
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Blow Away
May your troubles blow away,
so far away, with the whistling wind,
never to pass this way, ever again;
your feet on your own path
follow it faithfully, don't ever look back.
May your troubles blow away.
a smile on your face
knowing you go at your own pace.
May your troubles blow away.
even if friends who care are very few
you do what you've got to do.
May your troubles blow away.
stay forever true
to what it is your heart says to you.
May your troubles blow away.
don't lose hope
just keep going, and cut the binding ropes.
May your troubles blow away.
when everyone says you're different, and should change
you remember, you've got your own soul, your own name.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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There Are Some Things I Never Tire Of
Sunsets and migrating birds
red-rock canyons and buffalo herds,
John Wayne movies and old pickup trucks
high flying eagles and low flying ducks,
the smell of summer at sunrise
and the feel of fall when a chill fills the skies,
the way my daughter's sweetly say Dad
a good long hug when I'm feeling sad,
beautiful rhymes and simple songs
short checkout lines and trains that are long,
clocks with one hand missing
a little hugging and a little kissing,
home cooked meals just like Mom used to make
apple pie and fresh carrot cake,
taking my time and travelling slow
drifting along with no particular place to go,
tender hearts and gentle minds
lazy days and lots of free time,
watching a distant lightning storm
and getting it all just right in the words of a poem,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Doubts
These words I write
no longer seem my own,
I am fading away
in the shadow of where they've grown.
Once a raven standing bravely alone
in the cold field of snow,
now covered and frozen
at twenty below.
I walk and walk and walk.
Looking, for the treasure.
I walk a thousand miles
to find the place,
where I can look into a mirror
and finally recognize my own face.
I go through large cities
and small towns,
gazing through the windows I pass,
and still, nothing new is found.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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