A Poem Unwritten

Words unsaid,

tears unshed,

love ungiven,

a  poem unwritten.


A kiss unshared,

a joy unbared,

a sin unforgiven,

a poem unwritten.


Each verse unshown,

each meter unknown,

remain always,

a seed unsown.


Likely you were never told,

it’s you, yourself, who is the Poet,

and what you say and what you don’t,

decide great things I tell you now,


A lovely chance,

you have been given,

not to leave,

a poem unwritten.








Phantom Intentions

The very best of intentions,

not resulting in right action

are phantoms,

ghosts of a good

which might have been,

shadows momentarily

obscuring what is,

to allow a glimpse

of what could be.



Kneeling in the damp soil

dirty fingers gently make holes

for seeds.

Across the road

a construction crew builds

many houses.

Like me they sweat

mud-spattered and muscle sore

from the labor.

Like me they believe

what they do is right, is good

they are not evil men.

They began their work

in a copse of trees which had to be removed

allowing space for building.

Mine began

on a small, sandy patch of ground

where sparse grass grew.

They cut trees

dug stumps

preparing the land.

I spread depths

of mulch and  compost

preparing the land.

From the high seats

of diesel excavators

they waved hello.

My bare feet

damp and connected to the earth

I smile and wave back.