POETRY PAGE SEVEN
"State Of Mine"
I live in a ballistic state of mind-
For, people that should be, are not even kind.
To awaken from a long night of Unrest;
I go out and about; I am put to the test.
I fight like crazy to keep my cool,
While knowing that no one plays by the rule,
And I must wage war, or become the fool.
It is quite laborious to stand my ground -
Pitfalls or perversion forever hang round.
I keep my guard up in times of peace -
Because I know that it will soon cease.
I don't fret over this ballistic state of mine...
We now live in a ballistic place in time.
She was proper, appealing, fine and fair...
Hers was long and silky -- gossamer hair.
Her actions mysterious -- Her eyes taunted --
Yet the lovely lady did not flaunt it.
A regal body she carried well --
A thousand men -- she did fell.
She had grace, more than pleasing,
and a dimple deep - just for teasing.
This creature never lost her prime,
Delightful, comely, but lost in time.
If she were sad -- it did not tell;
The pretty woman hid it well.
Her enchantment was not only skin deep -
Mind and soul -- harmonious and sweet.
Grace and balance overflowed,
And with dignity, she carried her load.
Where she traveled, all would stare,
Knowing what they beheld was rare.
Such wit she had, to cause great smiles,
And dreamers dreamed their fondest wiles.
A noble abundance of heart and core;
She had all of this, and something more...
Secret rapture was in her mind,
Such as this -- may I also find?
Her mode of expression was unsurpassed,
And innate composure; she held fast.
The only thing I want to know:
Where did beautiful Asha go?
I was appalled and dismayed as times before;
A scoundrel dropped in to skim through my store!
I knew at once that his card had been scored,
I said, "The items I keep are beyond your afford."
He looked at me with a curious blue eye,
But he was too shallow to comprehend why.
He turned and fled with his wild locks flowing;
I mused in disgust at the lack of knowing.
On the very same day, a lady came there,
With an aura of confidence and well kept hair;
She was wise to the game of bluffs and knocks,
And knew the rule, for I had no cash box.
I approved as she glanced around all sides,
At the various sports and the numerous rides.
I was well pleased, for she was no meddler;
I got the idea, she too, was a peddler.
We each realize why humanity grieves,
And both affirmed, honor among thieves.
Carefully she paused through the rooms and space,
Then taking her leave with integrity and grace.
Although the market is open all of the time,
I keep an alcove secluded that is only mine.
I put out my sign; it said, "Closed for the day,"
And I went to the closet where I like to pray.
There are different notations under my awning,
Such as, "On Vacation," or, "A New Day Is Dawning."
But the shoppers are endless, and so is their prying,
Empty of wisdom, but wealthy from lying.
One can get fixed in my quaint little place,
Lost forever, or be slapped in the face!
I must tell you promptly as I know I should;
"The wares are expensive; your moneyís no good."
I do not barter, yet I will furnish flak . . .
If you dare pick it up, you canít put it back.
Be careful of details you desire and feel--
In this marketplace, all is priceless and real.
A hypocrite is welcome any time at all,
Although goods are broken as they tumble and fall.
They donít understand the things that they bought,
Nor do they know that these things arenít taught.
Then there are patrons who havenít a clue,
And perceptive ones say," I thought you knew."
There is no end to the elaborate stock,
Old dainty laces and statues of rock.
I have music and books, and I know the right names,
And I am a champion at playing mind games.
Donít even browse if you cannot buy,
In fact, donít come in; the price is too high.
If you donít know the rules in this unusual store,
I would advise you not to rap on the door.
You may beg and cry, down upon bent knees,
But you canít enter here with ordinary keys.
If you declare firmly that you must come in,
Please recognize both goodness and sin.
Be leery of merchandise you are bound to keep,
The cargo is heavy and the circumstances deep.
If this seems a bit remarkable to you--
Here is exactly what you need to do:
Take a look around at where you are,
Over your left shoulder is the evening star.
With all of your science and puffed up pride,
You are standing on the pavement, and still outside.
The sign now reads, " Please come here no more,
Donít judge me Ďtill youíve shopped in my store."
"Come To The River"
( Invitation / Celebration/ Relocation / Invocation/ )
The moon is full and bright, though the dark is nearly light,
Things I thought were wrong---unexpectedly seem right.
Iíll go down to the River---the one where I was born,
Iíll sing my praises to the Lord, and then to Him, Iíll mourn.
Iíll listen to the whippoorwill, and ponder ages past---
Iíll understand the reason time has slipped so fast.
Down at the rolling River, thatís where I want to be,
Maybe floating in the water, or swinging in a tree.
It is almost over here, thereís naught for me to do---
Nothing left to say, so I am finally through.
I wonder where my friends are---wherever can they be?
Iím sure I had a few, but I canít seem to see.
Iím tired of earthly matters, Iím ready for some fun,
Baptize myself in water, rise up and meet The Son.
So if you think Iím missing, and you really want to know,
Iíll be at the River performing my last show;
Hereís your invitation, only given to a few,
But you need not answer, no, not one of you.
But down at the rolling River, my spirit will be aglow,
Iíll recite a line or two, and from this place Iíll go.
Oh please donít be ridiculous, Iím not talkiní suicide,
Iím takiní my Pretty Pegasus on a high and distant ride. . . .
You earned yourself a bauble on your chase
I only wanted wisdom for the day when I
You got a broach of rhinestones and a
ribbon with your name,
Your quest was for riches, I learned to
play the game.
Iíve had a lot of heartache, youíve had
But time is moving swiftly, my reward is
Decades have come and epochs have faded,
Old Father Time left us shaken and jaded.
Now your goods are buried and hidden in the
But I still look for diamonds to illuminate
Laughter in the foyer, yet I see no one is there
A whisper in the stairwell, almost like a prayer
The rain is falling furious, hard and wildís the wind
And weighty is the meeting that I must soon attend
There is much to do, in these strange and faithless times
I must make haste and heed the ringing of the chimes
I behold an image close, at my open gate
Haunted is itís essence, a dreadful twist of fate
A shadow near the bower, a sigh I can perceive
I shall cease my story now, for you would not believe
Now the sun has broken and as the foliage dries
Magically Iíll depart on a white winged horse that flies . . . .
© 2001 by Cathlyn Cross- Leming (All rights reserved) All material written here is my sole original work