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  • Writer's pictureD. Ellsworth Hoag

Rambling On

Sometimes I question what I write. Other times it seems crystal clear what is appropriate and necessary for me to say. It is hard to define where ideas come from. Some are from personal experience and some from watching others cope with life's trials. Others are just observations of the complexity and beauty of what is about me.

One thing that is abundantly clear, it's easy to not quite get there. Finding the inspiration is only a small part of putting things on paper. Prose for me is even worse. I stumble more and get up slower. Thus be patient with my intros, the poems should be much better.

Soul Healing

I sit on the porch

and look at the rain;

is the anger worse

or is the pain?

For anger's acid,

burns me whole;

but pain is a canker

that grows in my soul.

I watch as droplets

bounce off my shoes—

will I ever be done

with paying my dues?

What should I learn,

what is the lesson?

Don't know the answer—

just confessin'.

A pull on the jug,

then I'll start

to gather the shards

that were my heart.

Then sit at the table

this puzzle in hand

to reconstruct

the life I planned.

It won't be the same—

but wounds will scar;

I'll just have to start

from where I are.

Might need help

from an outside source

to put myself

back on straight course.

The cause don't matter—

grief is the same;

the steps don't change—

just the dance's name.

Playing Safe

I'm going to be correct

take a genteel pc pass;

which might be to say,

I'll blow sunshine up your ass.

Though I think your opinions

are a load of bull

I'll never say shit

though I have a mouthful.

I'll walk the narrow line

twixt mealy-mouth and polite

for lack of social stress

is my glory and delight.

Visual Textures

Herringbone clouds—watery night sky,

misty moon glances through ripples.

'Tis a night where dragons might fly

and startle the world with their cry.

Welkin folds like wind-sculptured sand,

soft paper-lantern light infused,

a sky from an artisan's hand,

the ceiling of a wonder land.

The cool desert air holds the night

and vision is not crystal clear;

for distance seems ever so slight

could caress heavens in delight.

Inspiration oft is a hint,

but this time it is evident.

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