I hope this page to be an expression of creativity.
by
John Patterson
Many roses in many rows
Standing proud and strong
Growing and changing
Creatures of soft beauty
The favorite children of the sun
Each and every one
But I am a stone
Rough around my edges
And plain to the eye
How could a stone
Be equal to a rose
So I sit and I wait for
Some thing to change
But stones don't change
With in the time or a rose
Bees buzz past
While time creeps by
And the seasons change
All the flowers begin
To fade yet
Still the stone stands strong
Days creep by
Growing shorter
As does the time of the rose
Slowly and surely
The roses die into commonality
Still stands the
Common sturdy stone
Unaffected by time
Life travels on
and there beauty is gone
And so depart the
Favorite children
Of the sun
Yet the stone still stands
same as before and ever
In Treasures
by
Coyla Coblentz
Indeed
In treasures
In places unknown
Beyond the doubt
Of realism's thrown.
Twisting sorrows
Beauty's delight
I won't get much sleep
Dreaming tonight.
The Here
by
Coyla Coblentz
Time flies in thoughtless misery
And boneless pain
Through skinless decades
And empty same.
The here
The how
Who's hopeless now?
Golden People
by
Coyla Coblentz
Climbing unbidden by fate can be a dangerous ascent.
Rising above the narrows of earth and rock and reality.
You've been blinded by the glitter of the golden people,
And you won't be falling free.
Off center, off your way, off the mark of amour propre.
It turns into horror now, an ugly muse of nothing.
Untouchable sorrows and dreams and flameless reruns
And you cannot farewell as one.
In the Manner of Tin Hopes
by
Coyla Coblentz
Cold fire radiates inside you like tin emptiness,
Hoplessness,
I think you find joy in tasting poison leaves.
Saltiness.
Or the euphoric tingles of an impending death.
Foolishness
You'll drowned yourself in your need for quenching,
Licentious
Gorge yourself on half-worthy foods,
Giddiness
Kill yourself in your need to live.
Just to be Clear
by
Coyla Coblentz
I think I was born in a hurry,
But I've always been late.
Pride moves me forward
In fear I hesitate
Flannel politics pushing self-esteem,
That message was never meant for me.
Beauty is the art of what we love to see
To feel,
Thriving in the comfort of pleasure
Sensation
Call yourself the patron of open-mindedness
Still you've excluded the best.
More to come!
(Above poems written and copyrighted by Coyla Coblentz [October 19, 1999])
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