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| Poems on Life |
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A dream, unbroken A dream, unbroken, Stands still over a roaring sea. Its calming tones and images. Surpass calamity. Its whimsical tune carries on over all the land For even in the darkest hour, A dream, unbroken, stands. A dream, unbroken, Can grow old, but its remedy stays new. It soars above all imagination Into a riveting mirage of blue. The power of a flying wish can send it to the sun, But even at the end of it all there’s A dream, unbroken, begun. A dream, unbroken, Holds strong even on earth. It’s assuring wisdom resides in humans, Allowing them beauty and mirth. When you find a wish, give it all you can give. For even when the world is dying, A dream, unbroken, lives. Lesley Barth June 18, 2001 Everyone is Someone Everyone has something That can make them proud Everyone has something; Quiet, brave, or loud. Everyone is someone Nice, or sweet, or tall Everyone has something Nobody has all. Lesley Barth Unheard Melody There is a broken song That the birds sing while flying There is a familiar tune That babies sing while crying There is a motionless thought That fireflies dance to at night. There is an unheard melody That tells us wrong from right. There is sweet, effervescent music That the lions hear while roaring There is a small voice heard While the smooth eagles are soaring There is a heavenly chord That tells us wrong from right There is an unheard melody That gets us through the night. Lesley Barth Inspire Where do we get these majestic visions? Is it in our head? No, a head cannot breathe inspiration into the darkness. Is it in our hand? No, a hand is merely a tool in the process of encasing our feelings with words. Is it in our mind? No, a mind is for wondering about the world, not knowing it. Is it in our heart? Yes, for only in our heart can we truly understand the beauty and glory of the world around us. Lesley Barth Technicolor  A colored pen Spewing words onto paper; Each feeling is brought out in a different hue. A myriad of colors take place Of the emptiness and the blankness that Leave space in everyone’s mind. The letters spill out of the pen, Whose only inks are emotions, Creating not only words, but an image To comfort weak souls. And in the end of it all You’re left with no mental memory, No physical scar. But a black ink poem in Technicolor. Lesley Barth June 2001 Lost I’m confused, Separated from the world I once knew, Into a desolate, icy world of surrealistic Images. I’m dazed Looking at a normal picture Pretending it means something that is doesn’t. I’m lost Deep within the most hidden Trenches of my soul. I lie. I lie. Barely moving, barely breathing, Barely being. Lesley Barth July 2001 Anticipation I’m anticipating something But I’m not certain of its Properties. I can sense it coming From the bottom of my Feet to the very tips Of my fingers. I wonder, what could Be so real and yet so Perfect to attain this Feeling all throughout Me? Lesley Barth Waterfall Coming to the edge Of a thick, lush forest As morning softly sprays across My neck. The waterfall steps out from its shadows. Flowers and colors Blend into an endless Mirage of beauty. A fragrance, as young As a newborn lamb, Yet its comfort as old As time itself, Spills into the light air, As earth’s flowing Life source tumbles Harshly, but sweetly Into the dampened earth. It bubbles at the end, Yet when it is going Down a path, becomes As silent as the beauty that surrounds it And blends, once more, Into the background. Lesley Barth July 2001 Ice-Machine The ice-machine Just keeps making ice, All uneven with others, Some bigger, some smaller. It doesn’t care what Happens to the ice Once it is out of its Container. It doesn’t care if a wide-eyed Four-year old shoves it down the Back of his unsuspecting older brother, Or if it melts down, Doing Nothing To anyone. Lesley Barth July 2001 Fading As each line drops down Into the solemn lake, The fresh, dark water ripples, then Soon after, fades away. As each seagull scoops down to Shore to feed from the ocean The salty, mystic water ripples, then Soon after, fades away. As each otter goes down To his stream to gaze at the Marvelous array of fish The flowing, clear water ripples, then Soon after, fades away. As each lonely raindrop falls upon A quiet puddle, The small, shallow water ripples, then Soon after, fades away. Lesley Barth |
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