there are no lies
in a baby’s eyes
no prejudice
just innocence
seeking love
from above
**
Author: Dave Stancliff
Retired newspaper editor/publisher, Vietnam veteran, freelance writer, blogger. Married 51 years. A sense of humor. Defender of truth. Give my poems, essays and short stories a read. I look forward to feedback. Write on!
A Dime for an Epiphany
If I had dime for every epiphany
that I’ve had
it would add
up to a lot of money
however
remembering
those moments of inspiration
when something became clear
never lingered long enough
for them to physically appear
alas! my fleeting epiphanies
will never persevere
**
Watching the Dice Dance
white hot heat on a Texas day
boys gathered in the shade
of a deserted alleyway
watching dice dance
and passing the time
each waits for a chance
ready to roll anytime
“seven” was the lone sound
as the dice danced on
the ground
“craps!” the others cried
In the shaded alleyway
collective joy amplified
during their child’s play
**
Piano Man
play a tune for me
on ebony and ivory
something simple
a delightful ditty
with your nimble
fingers
teasing a tune
that I can croon
a melody
to make me happy
**
When Books Are Burned
ashes… ashes
fall down
to the ground
when books burn
knowledge goes
up in smoke
in a moment
of madness
that generations
will forever regret
***
Historians
Beneath the rubble of civilizations past
ancient souls cry out to be remembered
from great societies that didn’t last
their wisdom buried in history’s ashes
their lives that passed too fast
who will give those souls peace?
and tell their stories?
of past glories?
historians are the bridges
connecting the past to today
their tireless work
a timeless passion play
***
A Brief Look at Redemption
He rocks back-and-forth on the rickety wicker porch chair. He’s everyman, late in life with wrinkles distorting a once smooth face, and body. His life wasn’t spent seeking redemption in real time. His subconsciousness never gave a hint of being interested in the subject.
Memories did sometimes rudely intrude upon his daily routine and reality. As a combat veteran he was intimately acquainted with death. The sight. The smell. The moment he fired at a human being. The horror.
But he just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
He isn’t plagued with regrets on not being “saved” by any religion, or by being led to redemption like a sheep on the way to being sheared.
Freedom is his redemption for being alive and having survived many perilous times in his long life. His arthritis a badge of honor. His physical scars medals earned during a long life of adventures. His silver hair a crown of achievement.
He makes no claims of having redeemed others from sins and stupid moves in their lives. He never wanted to lead others to the top of any proverbial mountain. He’s unaware of ever being anyone’s leading light in life.
He just keeps on rocking in his wicker chair every day, a modern response to Old Man River who just kept rolling on.
the end
The Colors of Curiosity
A kitten’s proclivity
to curiosity
comes in shades of tabby
black, brown, gray, white
some tall and some small
all hunters at night
curiosity
gleams in their agate eyes
multi-colored felines
who like to fraternize
curiosity
in every slinky movement
nothing is left unexplored
or spared their amusement
***
Wanton Thoughts
Lava lust
molten desires
steamy romance
pulsating
inside
crazy love
sending shockwaves
down my spine
with hot passion
and naked yearning
sensuality and carnality
embodied
with salacious thoughts
coursing through veins
throbbing with need
I yield to impulse
***
Love in the Air
He looked across the classroom at her luxurious golden hair
lost in daydreams that come to young men
all he could do was stare
he wasn’t sure what it was that held him so
what marvel moved him to sweat
even though a breeze through an open window did blow
his heart felt light
she was a pretty mystery
and a beautiful sight
he told himself a day would come soon
when he’d be brave enough to say hi!
and not appear to be a buffoon
love was in the air
but it wasn’t sticking soon
***
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 