Poems about Reality
Love’s Images
Driving home, my mind took a detour;
thoughts became some other place;
the road, ahead, had become obscure;
my attention, captured by a face.
I couldn’t actually see such a face;
it was merely a thought on my mind;
it was more of a shadow or
Lunch Date
My schedule is now my very own;
nothing significant to forget,
while I’m living all alone,
anything comes up; and, “I’m on it.”
Today, I had a date for lunch;
my cellphone at my side;
I was too late for brunch;
for it went out with
Simply Thinking
Most thoughts are simply rudimentary;
such as thinking of putting ones socks on;
you might even refer to it, as elementary;
like Sherlock Holmes said to Watson.
Other thoughts are of greater complexity;
causing many people to blunder;
even bringing about such perplexity;
so as to tear their
Shrouded In Mystery
What is this substance we call reality;
is it bricks and mortar; flesh and bone?
Will its existence, desolve into finality;
or, is it a home for God, alone?
Does a physical universe really exist;
always been; devoid of beginning?
As, so many among us, often persist;
Shadow Of Self
Shade is caused when something blocks light;
creating the darkness, of a shadow;
that darkness translates to a form of night;
appearing as a shadowy meadow.
Shade is a form of diminished reality;
blocking the very Light of day;
Light shining through, restores normality;
guiding our path;
Shallow Passions
Passion is the force of the energy of love;
that which gives life all its meaning;
created, first, in the thought world, above;
its light, to the lower world, streaming.
Passions were stirred by the breath of life;
all, generated in the garden, above;
fueling the faith to
Scrapbook Of Memories
Time is the purpose of all pretense;
cataloging pictures of joy and infamies;
past history, chronicles all events;
all found in the scrapbook of memories.
Why is it, that we are obsessed with past;
doesn’t today, provide enough worries?
Must all transgessions, forever last;
with evidence
Recycling Reality
Some think that man invented recycling;
making some garbage become reused;
whatever man does, is merely a trifling;
an ill-fated attempt, by light, diffused.
For all, consists, and is limited to energy;
constantly changing, purpose and display.
Consciousness compresses all by synergy;
thought creates a new dawn; and
