POETRY

One Form of expression which gives us licence to put down in words what the heart feels

A Sad Story

The faint trace of regrets
Flashed across her face
As I stole from her a smile.
So we reversed our places
And I listened for a while.

She didn't have to speak
For deep inside I knew
That her story was so tragic
And it would hurt me too.

I did detect a tear, though
Or so to me it seemed;
Cried I have no doubt
For the one she once called dear.

 So I identified,
And saw me in her place;
For I also have cried 
For the one I once embraced.

The Game

I see a child playing marbles.
I feel what he feels,
As he pockets his winnings.
With pride and a sense of accomplishment,
He does what he must.

Other kids stare with envy,
But he shrugs it off.

He goes home alone,
There to counts his winnings.
He picks his favorite marble
And swears never to loose it.
Does not care about the others,
His favorite will make him a winner.

The light catches the crystalline
Colors of the rainbow, as he
Examines for nicks and scratches.
With sweaty palms, he clutches
His little marble as he swears 
To never loose it.

Next day the game begins.
The kids have all heard.
They want the magic marble.

The stakes are high.
The rules are set.
The game this time is for real.

Sides are chosen, in silence
cheers abound so silently.

Slowly the amount dwindles,
Nothing at the bottom remains.

What went wrong?
What is left?

The marbles are all gone.
The bag is empty.
The friends all went with the winner.

He looks around, no one there...
Slowly he opens his palm
And there appears his favorite.
The one marble he had left.
The magic one that would get
All he had lost together again.

Remnants of Life
Abandoned fields, full of dreams
That were once, now stand forlorn
Under the hot sun of August.
Flies are buzzing all around,
As the hot breeze stirs the dead leaves.

The sweat beads the brow,
As the gaze envelopes the grounds.
To the right, the old barn still stands
Without life.
Wild flowers all around, where wheat
Used to grow. Not a cow in sight.

To the left, three crosses in a row...
Unkept, covered with weeds...buried dreams,
Of long ago.

The old farm is gone now...just a whisper remains
In an old timer's memory, of what used to be...once.

Like a life, it all ended
Somehow, somewhere in distant time.
The laughter no longer prevails
Among the tall corn, the golden wheat,
The green grass...that are no longer there.

All is dead under the hot sun of August.



LOST SUMMER



Summers turn to autumns,
With that to lonely years.
Time keeps right on going,
Where only dreams are real.

We reminesce about our summers
And the things we held dear;
Our hearts keep us going
Together with our tears.

Pleasant thoughts enrich our lives,
But we took them all in stride.
The things we felt we needed,
The things we had to hide.

Like that April day, my love,
When nature turned to greet us.
It will come again I say,
Even if only just to tease us.

Then one day, winter will arrive,
To arrest all dreams, and regrets.
Not knowing we're still dreaming,
Our sons will lay us to rest.





Man made ground



A piece of tile here,
A broken brick there.
All that comprises the ground
We walked upon today,
You and I.

Birds nesting 
On man made rafts.
People walking
On man made ground.
Not much nature,
All around.

Yet, we could see
The colors.
The green's and the purples,
The browns...
All around us
As we walked
Out into the water
On man made ground.





All Poems by Walter Pompeo





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