It's Just the Glow
A billion - billion
The earth have trod,
Each unknowingly glowing
Wearing the image of God.
This old world runs on atrocities
Yet cries for ruined lives;
Avaricious society kills the earth
Then demands those with less, clean up the mess...
Witlessly wondering why
The trampled turn to suicide.
The few who try
To peacefully live and die
Can find no rest
And thereby so much of the planet goes unblessed.
Some things a man thinks he does
When in reality, he does not know;
So much cannot be said
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Lines In The Sky
Laying on my back in a wild wooded area
Late November, amid an early dusk,
A few clouds chase the sun
Into the West.
Looking upward and around
Strange and mingled forms do I see,
Blending with and deviding apart
Each and every dark coursed tree.
All is so still and serene
With not even a splinter of sound;
Though senses tell
Something very real is residing
Upon this ephemeral scene...
A much deeper meaning
Simply awaiting to be found.
Beauty and mystery a mix
An inspired, almost eerie sight
One seldom seen, less often noticed,
And only by those who so search
On the very edge of a cold winter night.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Old Soldiers Grave
I sit near an old soldier's grave
Reading the words upon his tombstone,
Brushing away the dirt and moss
To see: 'Died 1944 - In Battle at Bastogne'.
I wonder when, and how, his folks received the sad news-
I wonder, how often afterward they cried;
And did they continue so missing him...
Until their own time came to die.
Is there anyone left, who remembers this man-
Am I alone, the only one who cares anymore;
How long Lord before none ponder the price paid
To win the second world war?
So many of those who did return home
Sadly, have now with age passed on;
May we never forget what bit they all gave
In the greatest combined human effort, the world's freedom to save.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Fire Dream
A dazzling fire white flash
Illumines deep into my night sky.
I stare in amazed awe...
As timidly I wonder,
Am I - is anyone - ever ready to die?
A question without answer,
Perhaps the answer is without reason
And therefore cannot find expression.
Death - like this blinding light - stands before me, blazing.
Neither can be denied;
By way of such pondering
I find closer to the light I am drawn,
Or it to me -
At the lights center now I see
A spot fading just low enough for recognition,
It is the size and shape of an ordinary door.
Curiosity driven by desire to understand
Holds at bay my fear of daunting death,
So I move further into the great light,
Toward the doorway -
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Fall
Fall has arrived
And with it
The enigmatic ebullience of being alive.
As colors caress catharsis and sweet smells soothe serene
The wayward wind whistles a melancholy tune,
Prophesying: 'It will all end, and quite soon.'
Even thus the forshadowed finish
Seems ultimately right,
As leaves from their worldly place
Take quiet flight.
And by instinct the free flying birds
Decide to follow the great calling
Of which, it seems, only they have heard.
The entire world joins to sing:
An epiphany has surely fell,
Throughout all creation
With an efficacious word to tell...
For the old passes on
and all becomes new,
as nature here gives a glimpse
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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The Old Road, The Old Way
Somewhere, somehow
There must be a road, a path
That goes, that leads beyond
Way beyond woman and man...
A Way, that really can be travelled
By all who desire;
An old-old road, a dirt trail
From the deep past
To far ahead
-neither traversed by plane, boat nor rail-
Simply a road, a path
To be walked, crawled, or carried upon by mortal man...
Blazed from and for eternity
-not always difficult nor easy-
A quiet, a gentle Way
Ever calling, ever leading
A peaceful, a beautiful trail...
It is somewhere, out there, and in here
Then and now, forever
From before light, to beyond the last sunset
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Old Thoughts (Imagine: I'm aging)
- The winter wind blows through the cracks
Around an old window pane,
It mournfully howls a brooding tune
Flashing images of age into my brain.
Time walks on
Always at a steady pace,
Continuously spitting dirt
In humanities face.
The elderly forced to wear age
Worn and weary,
Towards the end
No longer in such a hurry.
For all who long enough live
Age shall wear old upon old,
Yet amazingly for so many
The soul refuses to grow cold.
- (more thoughts come in, with the wind)
I'm alone
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Story
I love story.
Truly I do.
And always will.
Of the best of them
I shall not ever
Get my fill.
They are never read, told, shared or sung
In vain,
They create, live and give
An allegorical ardor to life and being
That in no other form
Can anyone find or explain.
Yet,
the fact remains,
for each persons story
'tis the same:
Wherever great fictional stories
Are shown or told,
New or old,
There is a moment of climax, fantasy,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Flowers and Pages
Flower petals saved
Between holy pages
Dryed and faded, both are
Deep words of life,
Love simply stated.
Memories and hopes
Together combine, ever to
Transcend places and time...
- Life is not a simple dream,
There is so very much
Beyond what is felt, heard and seen...
- Lifes paradox is of such:
So full of beauty
At the start,
So worn and weary
At the finish;
Boundless knowledge
Cannot free the heart,
Endless effort
Cannot still the days
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Mystic
In my mind afloat
Drifts a mysterious small boat,
Lulled along
In contemplative song,
Upon a magnificent sea -
The far reaching ends of it all
That give quiet call,
Are far beyond me.
It all moves like waves wended,
And dreams rended,
Flowing into a vague speculation
Toward the acquisition of the ineffable;
Yet, ever accompanied by a fear
Of being unable to find the unsubvertible.
- I row - I go - for I must
Somehow know, and find
The place, the time,
That distant - near land, with
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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