Monthly Archives: March 2015

Altering Vows

Why do I still wear the ring and not sing
The wound is closing and now only stings
My light lyrics lifts my chin off my chest
But my heart and soul knows I lost the best

Offering my hand let us overcome
Our pains intertwine lessening them some
Fast forward we are here no better now
Standing at the altering again vows

© 2015 Michael Yost 03/29

Is this life really worth it

A poet worthy of a visit and to follow.

Homo est Machina

sisyphus-1549

Is this life really worth it
to do one’s duty and one’s bit?
For every candle that is lit
I have a sin or two to commit.

Is this the way to paradise
or should I think about it twice?
I will not act on your advice,
against all odds I’ll roll my dice.

Is this the verse where truth abides?
Consider this from all the sides.
Whom to trust when no one guides
your body where your spirit hides.

Is this the voice of reason speaking?
I do not hear it, my heart is beating.
New whims and fancies I am seeking
beyond all sense and all meaning.

Is this the end my beloved friend?
Please do not answer, just pretend.
My hand to you I will extend,
on no one else I can depend.

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Is this life really worth it

Is this life really worth it.

Yes I do think it is…Especially the part sharing deep feelings and gratitude .  Nice work to wake up with.  😉

Every June and July I Hide Inside

 

Holding onto pain because there’s nothing more
Black nails pick endlessly at open sores
Fire ants crawl up my arm screaming for a score
Who wants to recognize better to ignore

It’s time for the Prom and to start the party
Expects me to pick her up well and hearty
The King and Queen can’t be to late or swarthy
Cutting lines in the car and the door hurried

Start of the drizzle with wet card boarded roof and walls
Our last shared eight was cut heavy, light and small
Rivulets forming and finding taint and balls
Brings black rain twisted metal and her scream’s death call
© 2015 Michael Yost 03/28

Thoughts and More Thoughts

When you’ve collected enuff for publication let me know so I can buy the first book

Contemplative Moorings

I recently posted several little nuggets in a “Thought-a-day” blog on Goodreads. However, a minuscule view count resulted from those efforts, so I have decided to discontinue that blog and repost the best of the lot here, and perhaps in the future post more bite-sized contemplations here as well. Enjoy!

*

Virtue belongs to us all;
Vice is yours or mine alone.

*

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?
Perhaps imitation is the most honest
form of envy.

*

Love transforms a stranger into family.
There is nothing more magical than that.

*

Modesty is praying for
rather than demanding
greatness.

*

Instead of rearranging deckchairs
on the Titanic, perhaps we can
drop them into the ocean.
Then our misplaced priorities
will at least survive us as Darwin
could never have predicted.

*

Things are only random
until you understand ’em.

*

Copyright 2015 by Michael Marsters.
All rights…

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Empty Crucifixes

Imagination gives lift to my wings
Makes it easier to lift my voice and sing
Anchors scrapping the bottom breaking their strings
Like a catapult boulder flung on a fling

Landing hard beyond the wide and long river Styx
No change in my mouth to pay for Charon’s pyx
More things that could have happened were politics
Now praising God for empty crucifixes

© 2015 Michael Yost 03/28

The greatest thoughts I ever had

“It had no sense to denote,
it felt so strange and so remote.”
This floats…

Homo est Machina

the-spirit-of-the-dead-watches-1892

The greatest thoughts I ever had
were the ones I never clad
in shadows, gold, love or fad.
I never wore them, might I add.

The greatest soul I ever met
was the one I would forget.
I saw it only as a threat
to my wisdom, as of yet.

The greatest verse I ever wrote
was the one I couldn’t note.
It had no sense to denote,
it felt so strange and so remote.

The greatest story I ever heard
was the one without a word.
These silent gaps and lines so blurred,
so magnificent and so absurd.

The greatest books I ever read
were the ones from authors – dead.
I could not wrap around my head
what all their words had left unsaid.

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