Danielle N. Calhoun and Friends

SO SILLY, BUT…

I am all my yesterdays
Today is what they are.
I am every memory,
Parts of all that’s gone,
I will have lived, when I die,
I will have been what I was
Having been me, myself, and I,
Having witnessed birth and loss.
It all seems silly really,
Being born to bloom awhile, then die,
So pointless; yes so silly,
I don’t know the reason why.
For flowers, no matter how pretty,
Lose all their colours, then, goodbye!

©Copyright November 15, 2008 by Colin F. Jones

But those that bloom live to see
the moon and stars and little things
that our eyes sometimes miss
a quiet and eternal subtle bliss
they are alive as are we
and they feel as do we
when they are gone
do they fret?
I doubt they do
for another generation
comes hence…

©Copyright November 18, 2008 by Danielle N. Calhoun

BUT…

But what of those
Who do not bloom
To see another day
Who lose their lives
Long before
They are old enough to play.

What was the point
In being born
To die not seeing life,
Not knowing love,
Not being part
Of all the endless strife?

What of those who live in pain
In great anguish
And in fear
Who dread to face
Each coming day,
Each month of every year?

What of those
Who starve to death,
Those maimed on battle grounds
Those tortured
In their prison cells,
Those who are wrongly bound?

Is there some point
Having seen a rose,
To watch its petals die
Or seeing eyes
That used to smile
Grimace as they cry?

It is not a logic
I’ll accept
The pacifying line
When on my bones
The worms and ants
With relish taste and dine.

©Copyright November 19, 2008 by Colin F. Jones

BUT…

The rose blooms
a thing of beauty
for a few days only
and then it dies
to nourish its parent plant
A thing of beauty still
in its essence…
in its’ beautiful memory
reflected in the roses yet to come…
just as your wise words
have made a difference
for those who will follow…
There is no shame
in the birthing or dying
Only the beauty and essence
of in between…

©Copyright November 19, 2008 by Faye Sizemore

BUT, BUT….

Life is a war
Of ant and flower
Of tree and flying bird
Feeding on
Its own decay
To retain the quite absurd

A struggle to survive
And keep
The wheel from slowing down
That what has been before
Resumes
A circle neat and round

Life and death
A single mix
To ensure that we survive
For all that matters
In the end
Is that the seed is kept alive

Man seeks to change
The way it works
To control his destiny
For only then
Will we command,
The perished and the free.

We do not all,
Sew our seeds,
That others will be formed
Some flowers never
Grow again
And some are born deformed

What of the rose?
It grows not here
Where only nettles grow
As beautiful as any flower,
With colours soft to show

Both may bloom
The rose and nettle
And both will surly die
And their first blooms
Like all that lives
Will vanish and pass by

We are but parts
Of one large flower
Each a petal on its stem
And we will wither
One by one
That it all begins again

The struggle to survive
Gives life
A purpose without end
A purpose;
We must share with hope
Though we cannot comprehend

©Copyright November 19, 2008 by Colin F. Jones

BUT… AGAIN

When this life
of struggle and strife
is o’er
Death will open
yet another door
and when I yield
I shall be shall be
but fertilizer for its field
All that will be left behind
are the images
in my children’s’ mind
A small patch
in the quilt of mankind
When my time comes to go
I shall leave with a knowing nod…
happy to leave the ending up to God…

©Copyright November 19, 2008 by Faye Sizemore

THE FOURTH… BUT

I too can dream
The dreams they’ll have
The children of my seed
Who will no doubt
Follow me
According to their need

They will know
What I don’t know
But still they all will die
And rest in peace
Or something else
And they will not know why

Yet I am of
Myself alone;
There is no other me
So when this flower
Dies and withers
New growth there will not be

For yet we live
In little worlds,
Seeing not the wider scope;
For to long for flowers
That can’t grow again
Is to suffer fruitless hope

Beyond such truth
I can pretend
That God will put things right
Then I’d be hoping
Once again
To fly my mortal kite

The wheel but spins
On the spot
It has no place to go
The rain it falls
The rivers run
Part of the perpetual flow

I am no different
From the snail
Nor from the flying bird
It does not matter
If I do fail
To hear what Isn’t heard.

I do not know
If there’s a God
I only know that I will die
That if there’s a reason
Ingrained in that
I surly don’t know why

©Copyright November 20, 2008 by Colin F. Jones

RE: BUTS…

‘Tis magnificent…
the flower that blooms alone
Leaving no seed after it is gone
save for the love implanted
in the garden around
where laughing children abound
Its’ purpose is
to nurture and teach
with its’ perfume
within their reach
God bless the scared bower
that harbors such a flower…
It may lay in the ground and rot
but it will not be soon forgot…

©Copyright November 20, 2008 by Faye Sizemore

BUT FIVE

But soon enough
I’ll be forgotten
As it was meant to be
Lost forever
From the hearts
Of those who might love me

And soon enough
They will follow
And their children after them
And time will
Leave the memory hollow
All links to life condemn

Oh yes I’ll dream
As others do
But vanity cannot claim
To know what
Is not known at all
Though hope I may retain

But I accept
That death will come
Despite what I may think
That the wind of time
Will deplete my sails
That my what I am will sink

What I believe
Is pointless thought;
For I know not what is true
Except that all of us
Live life
Due to what our parents do

The choice is theirs
We live or die
According to their will
And billions
Are not born at all
And some they choose to kill

We argue all the time
And fight
And work like slaves to live
And mostly
From life’s precious pot
We take and seldom give

We blame the other
For the pain
That we ourselves have made
For we are never wrong
Because
That is our terms of trade

Oh yes I see
The beauty still
All the wonder of the earth
The magnificence of the vicious kill
The painful miracle
Of giving birth

All is relevant
To time and space
To action and response
As it repeats itself
In time
But the wheel turns only once.

©Copyright November 21, 2007 by Colin F. Jones

BUT… MAYBE

Today is all there may be
Farther that that we cannot truly see
Who is to speculate that we will be forgot
To see the future is not our lot
Good deeds flourish like weeds
and fling their own seeds
Perhaps we can dream
of a likely scheme
where forever is only a pittance
and time can cease to be
and all will live again… them and thee…

©Copyright November 20, 2008 by Faye Sizemore

BUT, PERHAPS

Perhaps; perhaps,
Well if we don’t dream,
Then what is the use of hope
So many things
We will have seen
And with all of them we cope

Perhaps this is
A stepping stone
Across a river red
That leads us all
To somewhere safe
When life on earth is shed

Space is vast
And unknown things
Accumulate beyond our eye
But what could we be
Beyond cruel earth
If what we are must die

It makes no sense
To rise again
To live again our past
For without the lives,
We’ve already lived
We have no shadow left to cast

We cannot be
In heaven or hell,
What we are surely not
Though given wings
And haloed heads
Our thoughts we haven’t got

For we decay
We rot in death
All that we were is gone
Our thoughts are lost
Sometimes before,
The final death has come

Sometimes we lose
All that we are
Long before the day we leave.
That we don’t know
Who they will be
Who will shed a tear and grieve

What does
A mindless person know
What do the senile demented think
How does he know
What food to eat
What liquid he must drink.

Oft we are not
Before we die
The people we once were
For in our lives
Oft things go wrong
Sad things oft do occur

In the end
We lose the fight
Something else always wins
Be it a virus
Or a bug
Then the fungi’s life begins

I state it thus
We have the will
To pray and love and trade
But we were made
To work and kill
For life is light and shade.

Light and shade
Good and bad
Hate and love combined
Spring and summer
Then the fall
Then winter so unkind

The sun comes up
The sun goes down
Another day is done
And of the flocks
In the field
Tomorrow they’ll be gone.

©Copyright November 21, 2008 by Colin F. Jones

PUSHING THE… BUT

Folk believe in God
Because they were
Trained to think that way
Some fear to disbelieve
Because of what
Others have to say

With false hope some die
Believing truth
Is what they were taught to think
Yet many
Are not satisfied
That from such thoughts they shrink

The putrefaction
Of their thought
Defies realistic fact
And shapes the way
The social rule
And law defines the act

There is no doubt
Such discipline
Can maintain a social peace
But when its structures
Fail and fall
Belief in religious rule doth cease

Then comes a savior
Who can be seen
With promises and hope
That gives us all
Some breathing space
That we might better cope

But soon enough
We realize
That still we live a lie;
That still the sun
Doth rise and fall
Still we grow old and die

Then some rise up
To change the rules
To suit their devious way
That belief in God
Is soon replaced
That in secret we all pray

BUT… PUSHING BACK

If a Savior came
who poured oil on troubled waters
… who are we to rile the seas
Some of us live our lives
with only ourselves to please
There is some who do believe
and belief gives them ease
We may or may not
be among these
but in the end… we all shall die
and proof the truth or the lie

BUT… IF

The mighty IF…!
IF we do this
Or someone else does that
Something
Might one day occur
In the place where we once sat

Meanwhile sweet life
Still goes on
Oblivious to the IF’s
And what is done
Is surely done
And we still await the myths

The good man Jesus
Walked the earth
Of that I’m pretty sure
But he also died
And does not walk
This vibrant earth no more

A thousand others
Did the same
All with a will to rule
The chocolate dangled
Near the tongue
Dupes more than just the fool

If he died for us
Then we who perish
For whom do we die
For tomorrow’s children
Who might cherish
Some vague reason as to why

Why would they care
Their turn will come
They’ll reap the same despair
The wheel spinning
On the spot
On its way to reach nowhere

There is no need
For hell or heaven
In some other mysterious place.
We have them here
On this earth,
The good and evil face

Life could not be
Without them both
That’s the way the system works
Mother Nature
Controls it all
From her task she never shirks

Where you mow down grass
The weeds will grow
Establish themselves as the norm
The flowers that bloom
Will invade like clouds
Of an invasive threatening storm

There’s no easy way
To the top of life’s hill
Only death is awaits us there
No matter what happens
You must find your own way
And love one another and share

Dream if you will
If it brings you delight
Believe in all that is good
Stand up for your rights
If it means you must fight
Be prepared to shed your blood

BUT… THOUGH

What are we really
In the end
If not useless and retired
Nothing left to give
As time
Our lease on life expires

Memory is no longer
Used
The past grows void and dim
We lose the will
To toil and serve
we can hardly raise a grin

In our weakened state
We are attacked
By every ruthless bug
We are so frail
That without pain
We can’t share a loving hug

We waste away
And want to die
That all the pain might go away
Thus we pass on
To who knows where
And our bodies then decay

Perhaps, perhaps,
BUT IF we have
A spirit deep inside
It might be that
By death it’s freed
On the gentle wind to ride

It may survive
And born again
We rise from our own seed
Knowing the value
Of being alive
And on what our spirits feed

Then we’d be free
From ourselves
From all the pain and woe
That dying was
A worthwhile thing
But hell! I just don’t know

Unlike this extempore text
It seems
there might well be a plan
That might well feed
Our hopes and dreams
for I am just a feeble man

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