A trio of poems from my past

Here are three poems that I have written over the years that seem to never let me forget that somehow even though I am not a poet that I do (sometimes) write poetry. These are the three best ones I have. The first one was written many years ago when I wasn’t the person I am now. The last two were written a year ago for a creative writing class. Well anyway please let me know what you think.

Something to live for.

You live your life in an infinite amount of ways,
but each requires something to live for,
or something to die for.

Married couples have each other and their families.
Some people are married to their work.
Then there are people like me who have nothing to live for,
but nothing to die for.
People like me are stuck in the middle.

That world of which I live in is calamity.
When everything seems to be normal,
then something happens to start more insanity.
It's an endless cycle of normality then chaos.
Is this world worth living in if you have nothing to live for,
but nothing to die for?




The Mountain

We slept high in the Andes mountains in Peru,
where it was below freezing every night.
On our fourth day hiking the well beaten trail,
it was getting hard to breath.

The sunrise was brilliant that day.
The clear mountain air gave a spectacular show.
Looking down at where we had been,
we could see the shadows cast by the mountain peaks
make their way across the farm fields.
I soon was breathing hard,
wearing three shirts
to protect me from the cold.

Finally high enough to cast my own shadow on the farms,
I peeled off my shirts.
Looking down I saw a deep valley
and many more hours of hiking.
I had thought it was right beyond the last ridge.
The spot where every photo of Machu Picchu was taken,
with the Incas’ lost city sprawled atop a mountain peak.

I collapsed upon a rock.
Unable to move,
feeling the air slip from my lungs
even though I was breathing deep.
Could I go on?

I wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw for myself
by standing in the spot so many before me had once stood.
I forced myself to my feet.
Everyone before me must have sat in this spot
wondering if they could go on.
If they could make the trip then couldn’t I?



Infinite Possibilities

Most morning people marvel at the pink,
maroon and
deep blue of the new born sky.

I say that is too late.
The time to marvel is when the earth is still black,
absent of all color.
The brightest stars fade away,
planets disguised as stars glitter dimly,
with the moon losing prominence,
dark black trees reaching up to a black sky,
but before the color of the day.

The time to marvel is when the day is still undetermined.
No color yet expressed.
When the day still has Infinite Possibilities.