THE SCARE CROW THAT I AM

the scare crow that I am


dead cornstalks hanging there in scattered rows
like broken mummified men
like me........
but they have ancient cornfields in which to stand
I have no place to be and no reason to exist

surveying the neglected countryside of my youth
and the forgotten fields that once were fruitful
I feel like the aftermath of a hurricane
and a desecrated cemetery

hopelessness walks around me in the mist
the cold gray morning whispers like a lover
who no longer loves but despises
and I try to cry but cannot well up tears
the ducts are as dry as the heart

why do we always run home when our souls
are snapped in two?
do we think we'll find ourselves there 
in those broken windows, those cobwebs,
those untended gardens and uninhabited pastures?

I couldn't wait to leave those hills and valleys
to run to the city and to the fulfillment of my dreams
I couldn't wait to leave home, to leave behind  
humiliations, real and imagined, to search for proud pursuits
and now this, the last straw on my humbled back:
home does not exist anymore, neither here nor there

the once green cornfields are now only haunting memories
like the love of my true love lost in the war of life
I walk into the corn rows and pose myself among 
the decaying stalks like the scarecrow that I am
and hang my head when even the crows laugh at my pain.


©by Voo Shining Stone
March 7, 2005

 7:30 p.m.

THE CIRCLE WHERE LOVE RESIDES

Rhythm of the Heart

native american song

The Circle Where Love Resides

Past a thousand midnights

Underneath ten billion stars

I waited for my love to find me

In the circle where love resides.

He was there, I was here

We were apart and dreaming

Of togetherness in our mortal flesh

With our souls eternal cleaving.

The wind sang his song to me

And took my reply back to his ears

The sky cried his tears on me

When my life was as dry as desert.

I waited and I waited there

Watching birds soar on the wing

Hearing men speak human words

Seeing Spring turn into Spring.

Past a hundred thousand midnights

Underneath uncounted stars

I felt him yearning, I felt him needing

And all my love reached out for him.

The clouds I weaved into soft blankets

The moon I turned to candle wax

The sun, my fire, through rain and snow

I shivered not, I did not sleep.

I knew that circle where love resides

Would return him to the place he left

I knew that cycle of losing and finding

Would lead him to the starting point.

I knew that all would come to pass

Like the old ones wrote in the stories of stars

I knew his wandering love would find 

My light in the darkness to lead him home.

I did not age, love cannot grow old

It branches like a tree with leaves

It does not die or cease to try

But oh, it grieves, but oh, it grieves.

So if he comes not for me by sun's downing

If he does not stand again by my side

I'll run to the mountain where the rock touches heaven

Mount up my spirit horse and to him will I ride.

©by Voo

November 11, 2012

11:12 p.m

wow! 11/11/12 at 11:12 pm!!!

how cool is that?!

LARRY AND GARRY AND MERRYANNE new edit

LARRY AND GARRY AND MERRYANNE

THERE ONCE WAS A FAIRY NAMED LARRY

WHO LIVED WITH HIS TWIN BROTHER GARRY

THEY LIVED IN A TREE BY THE SIDE OF THE SEA

AND VOWED THAT THEY NEVER WOULD MARRY.

THEIR LIVES WERE FULL OF SINGING SONGS

AND MAKING MERRY ALL DAY LONG

THEY HAD A LOVELY, HAPPY HOME

TILL MERRYANNE MET GARRY.

NOW MERRYANNE WAS BLONDE AND SWEET

AND GARRY WORSHIPED AT HER FEET

(BUT LARRY SAID HE SMELLED DECEIT)

AND WARNED HIS BROTHER GARRY.

BUT GARRY WAS SO MUCH IN LOVE

HE SWORE SHE FELL FROM UP ABOVE

WITH JOY THAT FAIRY TALES SPOKE OF

AND DETERMINED SOON THEY'D MARRY.

ONE MORNING EARLY IN THE DAY

GARRY WOKE AND WENT HIS MERRY WAY

TO FIND HIS LOVE HAD GONE ASTRAY

AND BROKE THE HEART OF GARRY.

AND NOW HE LIVES IN THE TREE ALONE

THAT ONCE WAS THERE A HAPPY HOME

FOR FICKLE MERRYANNE IS GONE

(SHE MARRIED HIS BROTHER LARRY.)

© BY VOO

 JULY 10, 2005

 4 pm

Poet of the Light's poem "In Betweens"

 by Poet of the Light
Shed petals of a poet's whisper
Sep 25, 11:40 PM

In-betweens

I can be, be there
Between every happenstance
To save you- be the last
From everything that
Drowns you so easily
And often in bitter sea’s
Like an answer in a dream
When at last finally happens
I can be, be the fresh breathe of air
That changes things, all directions
And lets the sun come up- smiling
As the feeling of love covers you
While you lay within my arms gently
Yes I- I can be, be there, a difference
In all your nights and days
And even the way you think
About everything that- matters
If only you can save…me first

Poet of the Light © 2017

DREAMS THAT CANNOT DIE

Dreams That Cannot Die

Living life, that unswerving road, that follows no road map

We travel ever onward on past triumph and mishap

We stop at roadside flower stands and smell the rose's bloom

And buy ourselves some fragrance that begins to fade so soon.

We light a light there in the night 'twixt midnight and the dawn

We love the dark but more the spark that makes the darkness gone

We count off days in lovely ways but more oft than not, in gloom

And look for love to come our way but hardly make it room.

Our lives are busy, busy things, we breathe too fast to know

That death is always on our heels and needing fear to grow

We miss the sunsets in the west, sunrises in the east

And nibble tidbits here and there and miss out on the feast.

We do not learn, we only burn our energy in toil

And only grasp what has slipped past as we leave this mortal coil

We wonder why we cannot hear the song of birds so sweet

But the sound of birds and the poet's words are drowned out by our feet.

The music, the melody, the rhythm of dance, the symphony's refrain

The flute, the lute, the violin, the sound of pouring rain

The laughing child running free and wild, the heartbreak of a kiss

When we are old it's then we know that life is made of this.

Then aged heads will bow in sorrow, with weathered faces, sigh

And replay life that slipped away and dreams that cannot die

For life is not to be hurried through but savored as we live

And not a thing to be taken lightly but something that we give.

©by Voo

Jan 31, 2005 
2 a.m.
For Layne Longfellow