The Line
Sometimes a line comes along,
From nowhere, or
Anywhere, or
Everywhere;
It's just there
Going into your head,
Like the blueprint of your soul
Has been read.
And it is good -so good- to you.
You feel you must share it
With the entire world, through and through.
So you work and you try
To find a way
With wise words
This line to say;
Wrestle with your intellect
As you might,
Work on it
Day and night.
Still, the written words just are not there;
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Ruminations
An amazing thought
A seemingly made up dream,
The daily occurence of life and death -
Just one more passing, perhaps a bit depressing,
Routine, worldly scene;
A human is born
As another one does die,
One side of earth shines in light
The other covered by a total dark sky.
- The child may one day
Ask, 'why am I alive,
while so many countless others
are now dead? ' -
What, if any, wisdom
Could ever come from mere words
To him said?
For what does anyone know
(truly know)
More than a helpless Babe
In holy mothers arms;
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Dreams (Inspired-Desire from Visions in the Night)
Is it just a dream - to dream?
Or can one intelligently
And with honest hope inquire:
' What does a dream, truly mean? '
Is the dream given or allowed
To each their own,
Or across the masses to the crowd?
From God, or the soul,
How to be certain, how to know?
From Heaven's throne, or from the depth's of the human mind?
For one alone, or all mankind?
Shall we be allowed arcanumly to know
Just some of what was missed
From afar, through a dim glimpse?
Could it all possibly be
From somewhere beyond us all,
An endless soft echo
In a very old call?
One that is only to be heard
When the mind has settled quiet,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Writing Frustrations I've Known
-It would seem, I've run out of words.
Nothing left to say.
I have lost my inner voice.
It's gone, completely astray.
Perhaps I should lay down pen and pad.
Never more write a rhyme.
On this poetry that I love
I shall spend no further time.
... not that I was ever truly a poet anyway
... it's just that, well, I did love it so;
... still, it feels the well is dry
... time to just let it go.
- So now, what of me shall be
Feeling empty in heart and head?
What purpose-without a word-shall be heard
With no way to express both hope and dread?
Where have the words gone
Must they ever stay away?
Who has taken my spirit's song
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Listening To Rain Thoughts
Lying in bed, listening
To nature groan overhead;
Heavily rain does fall
Drip by drip inside my wall,
This house so old
Has leaks - as does my soul.
Voiceless thoughts pour from the clouded sky
Creating water drops
Learning how to fly,
It showers down in crazy sheets, as
I lie and listen
To the strange things it speaks.
Lightning flashes
Thunder slashes -
The whirlwind opens many things,
With such wild wonders it brings.
A spate of mystery
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Old Relevant Stuff
Flip up an old garage door:
Senses awaken
With the smell of unspent gas
And the sight of oil stains
Upon the floor.
Memories return;
Yea, the paint is a bit thin, (like me) worn and weary,
But, under that old hood
Is still plenty of strength and fury.
Grab an ancient thumb-latch handle on the door
Turn a key in the dash
Bring to life this sleeping dinasour;
Time for a fast blast into the past,
Up through the gears
And back through the years
Life's thrill comes by way of this beast,
On gas, tires and oil it will heartily feast.
-To the driver side
It's like a perfect old friend
Come to visit
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Angelic Vision
She sat lightly
On the edge
Of the mighty stone,
The very same one
That had rolled away
All on it's own -
With perfume on the cross
Around her neck
And just the slightest scent
Of good news upon her breath.
She glowed without
From beauty and grace within,
She seemed to understand
Each human flaw and chagrin.
There was pure poetry
In the words she said,
With enough life
To raise the dead.
She seemed to arise from nowhere
Blessed with vivid eternal vision
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Blood
there is blood on my hands;
and they won't come clean
alone and weary I'm just so tired
of nobody knowing what I mean
I kneel down
Look into the eyes of Death
As it so simply lays there still
Within a sanguine puddle upon the ground.
Something here is not right
indeed all is quite wrong
This dark day has lingered on
Far too long.
When death's deed
Was done
The moon out shone
The sinking sun,
While blood dripped from the bullets
Outside of the gun.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Senseless
Clouds of blue
And skies of white;
The moon by day
The sun by night;
Contradictions in thought and word
So much mental confusion, as
Voices speak, unheard.
'There's a purpose and a plan'
- so some say -
Though hard to perceive in the modern age;
Earth can be a madhouse
We're all quite insane,
Each running amuck
Shouting his or her own name,
So many want to be #1
In the world's eyes,
Foolishly blundering in and out of
Endless empty lies.
Where shall it all end
Where will it stop,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Friends
I saw an old man the other night
Who just didn't seem right,
So weary and beaten
Not mean nor bad,
Just looked like he'd had
All any man could stand.
Rough and rugged
Yet worn and gentle,
Like a person who'd truly care
And perhaps be even a bit sentimental.
When he looked up
From where he had fallen,
I saw a tear in his eye
And even a little fear upon his face,
A worried soul with a troubled mind-
Too many burdens, not enough time-
So many forgotten dreams, lost in ungrace.
I gazed upon this moment to see...
What looks alot like me.
The way we look, the way we view,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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