Poetry, Genuine Gem Journeys

What is a Father?

What is a father? Does having a child make you a father?
Ownership alone shouldn’t quality, just having a title isn’t good
Tears, pain, joy, laughter, acceptance and surrender
These are the measurement of fatherhood.

Smile a smile

So laugh or smile, And when you do
Soon laughter and smiles, Will fill the rooms
And isn’t that more fun
Then a room full of gloom?

I Bee Bumbled- A Bumblebee Stare

Bumble Bee Vision
I looked a bumble bee right in the eye
RIGHT IN THE EYE
Has that ever happened to you?

A small boy in a shed

A small boy walked carelessly -Home from school, Dark clouds formed above him-The weather became cruel
A saying spoke by his mother was the boys’ inspiration- “Our dreams help us to survive,
Keep hoping and never stop dreaming, That is what keeps us alive.”
The wind ceased to blow, A women’s voice called softly, From deep within the hollow

Mother’s Day

Nurturing the Seeds of our future
They, our mothers, determine what will come
It is the results of their best efforts
That we see reflected in, everyone

Parental Acceptance

The journey is fast
It always had an end
Through all of it, Mom and Dad
I understand now – you were the real friend

Cultivating Connections in Cultures

Connections in Cultures. The sultry movement of an abdomen. Swaying and pulsating to the vibrations of a tabled accordion. Naval piercings, the sensual metronome, keeping the pulse of the beating belly. Gold round chattering bracelets. sensual sweat collecting along the forearm.

I Haven’t, I Have

I haven’t, I have….
I haven’t succumb, I haven’t been number one
I have sought positivity, I have enjoyed levity
I haven’t held my tail between my legs ,I haven’t bent my knees and begged,
I have tried to destroy ego, I have used the word no
How have you been?

Dirt Dissertation

I am dirt, says the dark brown chunks beneath the boot, as it walks upon the land.
I am support, says the solid ground, as the grass grows strong above.
I am beneath many, says the land, as it faces up to see the sky.

Does the Sun Whisper?

Does the Sun Whisper? Gotten sun kisses, painted pigments, not what one wishes ……On a sore exposed nose, burns can be found, colouring the skin, turning people brown…..ish red, an artisan, but what of the sounds? The secret ones, can they be found? Ears are listening, what would they say? One wonders, verbiage of a brilliant day?

Genuine Gem Journeys

Category: Poetry