Leon's Personal Poetry

Lilac-colored Glasses

Reticent rage and latent lamentation...

I see the world through lilac-colored glasses.

Subconscious sadness and marginal madness...

I can't take off these lilac-colored glasses.

When will she come and be my salvation?

To remove these scales which do cover mine eyes?

When will she come and be my hope?

To remove these darn lilac-colored glasses?

Myopia of Mind
(1995/09/18)

I might find my Utopia in time,
If I didn't have myopia of mind.

An Ocean in my Heart

(originally written: 1995/12/26)
(edited: 2004/06/07)

There's an ocean in my heart.
It is broad and vast, but I know every wave.

Oh, how I long to revisit certain shores and take up residence there.

But I remain as driftwood... still adrift.

The rains bring more waters.
The storms create new waves.

I am driven to new and different shores.

My Ocean:  My Home

(original: above)
(NEW AND IMPROVED VERSION HERE: 2006/11/29)

There exists an ocean... my ocean... my home.
It is broad and vast, like endless chrome.

...unfathomable to all who know it.
I wish you could see it.  I wish I could show it. 

But, there is a lingering leviathan in my otherwise pacific sea.
Which surfaces oft times to tempt, vex & embarrass me.

I want it to go away; At the very least, I hope it hides.
I long for sanguine serenity and titillatingly tacit tides.

In my ocean, my home.

I Try to Forget

(originally written 2001/12/07)
(edited 2004/06/07)

I try to forget.  It may seem strange, but I do.

But, I forget to forget, or I'm reminded in some way.

It's like:  I'm stuck in this huge, nefarious net.

And I try to escape, but I get more tangled each day.

I've removed her clothes from the drawer,

I've taken her picture from the frame,

I've picked up her socks up off the floor,

But I can't forget her name.

Nor can I forget coming home each night

and how she used to hug me.

And how can I forget the sleepless nights,

When she was there to love me.

My home was once a haven

And now is HELL on earth.

I think it would've been better,

Had I not been given birth.

But begotten I was and here I stay.

Though it's raining in my home.

At least the weekends won't be gray.

'Cause my son, my sun, will come. 

  [A little background on this poem.  My wife left us April 11, 2001.  My son went to live with his maternal grandmother for a while and I only got to see him on the weekends.]

The Gallows of Guile
(1995/09/14)

Be calm my beating heart.
You know not what may be.
Counterfeits have we known in part,
And such may beguile thee.

You know not what fair maiden feels,
Nor what her mind conveys.
You know not what her heart conceals,
Nor do you know her ways.

Perhaps we're standing on the gallows of guile.
Perhaps we're knocking on the door of deceit.
But I say we risk it, at least for a while,
And enjoy the visions of a love so sweet.

My son's eyes
(Originally written 2001/12/07)
(Edited 2004/06/07)

Each time I look into my son's eyes, I see me, as a boy.

I also see his mother.  And sometimes I see the joy...

That once we had together, as a family, we three.

I also see his love, and my love for him reflected back at me.

...in my son's eyes.

[This poem is still as true as it ever was].

A Piece of Coal
(Originally written:  2003/06/14)
(Edited:  2004/06/07)

[In this piece, I've thrown rhyme an meter to the wind and explored some free verse] 

I am a piece of coal,

which has been overlooked for its potential to become a diamond.

I have been cast away and discarded.

Luckily, this piece of coal has legs,

and will wander until some company
picks him up & makes a diamond out of him.

And even a diamond is nothing without light.

A diamond is valued for it's ability to refract light.

Though I be a diamond, without light, I am worthless.

I am looking for someone to be the light of my life,
to cast her light upon me, and
make me radiant.

Without those two things, a man is nothing but coal,
to be discarded by wayside and eventually forgotten and/or
trodden on by
others.

       The Dust Captain      

(Originally written: 2003/06/14)
(Edited: 2004/06/07)

I am not a mere mariner. I am a captain:¹

...the captain of my soul.²

There is water all around me, but there is nothing to drink.³

I am dust in the wind,⁴

which has landed in a stream

and was carried by the current to the sea⁵.

I was at the bottom⁶ of the sea for a while,

and I got swallowed up by a fish⁷,

then the fish spit me out again.

 Then, I got swallowed by a crab⁸,

and when I came out the other end, I was crap.

As crab crap, I was then dissolved into a million pieces,

each a thousand times smaller than my original self.

I think I'm spreading myself too thin.⁹

I'm a jack of all trades, but a master of none.¹⁰

I need to pull my crap together and get organized again.

Is it possible? Is it too late?

Where will the I go next? What will become of me?

Now, I feel something¹¹ attached to me.

It pulls me down and lifts me up.

I feel like it has some mystical power over me.

I want to go this way, but it wants to go that way.

I struggle to deal with this addition to me.

It has become a part of me.

To detach it would like detaching a part of myself.

So, I wait. I wait for my ship to come in.¹²

Maybe there is no ship coming after all.

Sometimes, I see a ghost ship.

I can see it coming, but then it disappears into thin air
just before docking in the harbor of my soul.

The ebb and flow of the tides make me feel like I'm going somewhere,

but I'm going nowhere.

If I were a bird, I would eat that fish that spit me out.

And, I would crap on that crab that crapped me out.

Then, I would fly away to paradise.

I may be a spec of dust, blown to and fro by winds of change,¹³

and at times tossed around by waves of the sea,

but this dust is going to attach itself to a great eagle or whale,¹⁴
and travel the globe.

The problem is, to a spec of dust, like myself,

sometimes a swallow¹⁵ looks like an eagle, and a shark¹⁶ looks like a whale.

It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.

And, aspirations become forgotten dreams.

By the time I realize that it's a swallow or a shark,

I'm already lost.

And so I wander,

never knowing where the WAY¹⁷ leads me.

Perhaps if I thumb a ride to nowhere, I'll arrive somewhere.

Because when I thumb a ride to somewhere, I end up nowhere.

********************************************************

Footnotes:

1.  From the famous song, "La Bamba" (author unknown)

"Roads Less Traveled"

I've traveled roads less traveled.

I've seen things few have seen.

I've done things few have done.

And been where few have been.

I have stood on Mount Olympus.

I've stood in the waters of Styx.

I have dined with divas three

And danced with sirens six.

I've transcended time and space.

I have seen the tunnel of light.

I've been through the cave of despair

And struggled with all my might.

I have eaten the forbidden fruit.

I have tasted the pangs of sin.

I have walked on forbidden paths

And visited the Devil's inn.

I've desired to know good and evil.

I have aspired to be like God;

And now my eyes are opened,

And I see the Devil's fraud.

I who would have walked with gods,

And spoken face to face;

Now, do kneel and bow and beg

And know my lowly place.

I've visited Sodom and Gomorrah.

I have been to Babylon.

And I shall return thereto no more,

For those places have all gone.

So, I tread forever forward,

Looking for the promise land.

And whenever I see a weary traveler

I stop to lend a hand.

Sometimes I sit and wonder

If the promise land really exists.

Is it really a place,

Or is it just a myth?

It is said, "Strait is the gait,

And narrow is the way,

And few there be that find it."

I see so many signs that say,

"This way" or "That way".

But which is the right one?, and...

Am I standing right behind it?

Is it like de Leon's fountain of youth?

Or Cortez's mountain of gold?

Please, I beg you, somebody,

this mystery do unfold.

I've traveled roads less traveled.

And has it made all the difference?

Who can rightly tell, my friend?

For what is our frame of reference?

For are we to look at others,

And by them judge our fate?

How do we measure happiness,

Sadness, love or hate?

I've traveled roads less traveled;

And I'm as lost as can be.

Don't ask me for directions,

'Cause you may end up like me!

　[I fully admit that Robert Frost was my inspiration for this one.  Thanks Mr. Frost!]

Also:  Leon's Planet presents...

Children's Poetry