Dreams, Part II
the dreams I had
when I was young
the songs I wrote
that went unsung
the tears I felt
but never shed
the thoughts that stayed
inside my head
the joy I felt
but never expressed
and all the days
I was depressed
nothing to gain
everything to lose
but still I dream
that's what I choose.
© Linda S.O. Gonzalez
Linda's doll above to go to her web site
you can read more of her poetry there as well.
To my friend Linda.......
pour your heart to paper
tickle us with humor,
I wrote this
poem for two of my nieces and nephews that are autistic.
They are two of the most beautiful children I have ever seen in my life and
I love them more then I can even say.
Riding the Rainbow
met you on a sunny day
For Nicholas with love.......
A gentle touch
upon your face
A hand that
reaches out to you
A loving look
that expresses all
|A Nam Vets private date....||
for all my
He sat by the fire, reading an ancient book of poems of the heart,
His tears were from his heart, each a testament to his past, of places and of love and all it brings to life.
Finding words that touched his emotions, some powerful enough to smart,
unfolding inside his mind a world only he truly knows, surging with joy and strife all mixed together, rippling over like waves of emotion, good and bad.
In silence he reads, and lives the words within himself, the battleground of the heart,
no word spoken, no sound lost, he travels the range of emotion, a solo traveler of the soul.
A strength in his face as he lives the poets mind , as in pictures of times gone by, be it coach or cart,
the trip is his to make alone, and his to share at his choosing, or perhaps when he survives the journey with his heart whole.
Softly crackling the fire burns, pale beside the glow of his mindís fire at written word,
bringing to life the world within and he is alive to each word, the poem is his soul mate.
An evening of memories , and sometimes a good cry, to release him from the moment as a rising bird,
swept away, carried away, he travels a hidden world by his softly crackling fire .......a private date.
The Shadows at my Side
I turned quickly to catch a glimpse
of the shadows at my side.
(c)1998 - Dennis Johnson
|I hear them
calling in the night
When my world is calm and quiet.
They speak to me in
words I would not hear,
They beseech me with
They cannot understand.
And I have no answer worth speaking.......
Poetry to me
is like a light in the window on a stormy night.
Curling up in a big overstuffed chair by the glow of a fireplace.
And with laughter , tears or a smile crossing my face ,
to read the soul of another as I enter the world they know.
It is more then special it is nodding and knowing that
soul and heart.