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Saturday, February 8, 2020

The Chase

Chasing butterflies and June Bugs
in our backyard
Chasing the tricycle rolling away
Chasing the wind; the moon and stars
Hastening the light of day

Chasing our balls and birds and kites
As we all into children grew
We lost our innocence to the night
Chasing things we thought we knew

Chasing the sun; the sand and the fun
of living
Playing loud music,
chasing our whiskey with beer
For being young,
our parents were unforgiving
But we chased forever
without an ounce of fear

Chasing normality, sobriety; the engines
of success
Chasing kickers up the corporate ladder
With all the drive of youthful exuberance
and dreams for cannon fodder

Chasing children and grandchildren far
Chasing June Bugs and butterflies
Missing the moon but catching the stars
facing the fight of our lives

All our lives are spent running
in the pursuit of our happiness
Until the race is finally over
and death puts an end to the chase

Thursday, October 24, 2019

In the Curio Cabinet

...A snowman plush toy
in one of those silly winter hats;
the ones with ear flaps on the sides
I won him out of an iron claw machine
and gave him to the woman
who would become my wife.
She took him into the delivery room
and he came back home
with our new little girl.
A hand-painted Christmas card
from a friend and mentor
a beloved professor
who passed away from cancer
only a few years after we first met.
He taught me how to face
both life and death.
A miniature marble chess set
my wife bought for my birthday
and wine glasses from our wedding
A cookie jar I bought for my mother
at a flea market with a friend
one long ago Mother's Day
reclaimed after both my mother
and my friend had passed away
Nothing really valuable there
Just an odd collection of souvenirs
Strange how things which seem
to mean the least to others
Can be counted among things
to the heart most dear

Saturday, July 20, 2019


Tiny wrinkled thing
Size of a ladybug

Dry and dead as stone
It rested in my palm

I buried it beneath
The black leaf loam

From the grave it rose;
Green phoenix stretching

Lifting striated wings
Worshiping the sun

In months, taller than I
It rustled against the sky

Silver silk flowing
Over robust ears

Beneath rough sleeves
Cobs bulged with life

Rebirth from destruction
Born again from death

Multiplied like stars
Reformed and alive

Such is a spirit reborn
Like a kernel of corn

Friday, July 12, 2019

Waiting to Fall

Crippled and broken cornstalks;
pierce a field of waist-high grass
a weathered gray barn still stands
about a mile from the overpass

She was once the pride of the valley
where the harvest of plenty was kept
but now that there isn't any
she stands empty and windswept

She held the hope of America
so gently in her arms
and graced the land with bounty
from orchards, fields and farms

Farmers, crippled and broken
Watch their children leave the land
But whether epitaph or token,
The weathered gray barn still stands

Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Another World

Down a dry and dusty road
Beyond a field of thirsty grass
Lies a portal to another world
Beckoning to those that pass

Magnolias through waxen leaves
Sigh a breath of melting warm
Spanish moss on white oak trees
Every branch and limb adorn

Deeper now in forest keep
Rotting wood upon the air
Soft green moss beneath our feet
Dark and cool as we walk there

Outside, the heat is sweltering
Yellow bursts down on the stream
The sun has come to pools to bathe
And left in place, a living dream

Dragonflies speed swiftly by
Bodies blue and tails of green
Dancing among the Tiger lilies
Like small crayfish, to shade unseen

Leaving here, the traveler finds
More time elapsed than first believed
As through the gate the pathway winds
With all his worries now relieved

Monday, May 20, 2019

Talking With Trees

I talk to trees, birds and wind
I talk to clouds, sea and rain
I speak softly to snow but firmly to fire;
Often impatient with hungry desire

Animals retreat before my step, yet,
Hills have sheltered me while I’ve slept
I’ve always loved the color blue;
Heaven is painted with brilliant hue

I love the gold of sun and wheat
When sheaves dance as if they had feet
I laugh with the wind and sun instead
Of scolding them when my face is red

I’ll seek out shade to lay me down
Upon cool leaves and quilted ground
With a sip of water fresh from the spring
I'll thank my friends for every blessing

I talk to God when stars are lulled
When the night is quiet and my heart is full
And I dream He hears every sacred word
That my soul has uttered to tree and bird

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Waiting For The Morning

To everything there is purpose and
A reason for everything under the sun
What is will be, what was shall remain
And what is yet to come shall be again

If a man stands in the path of the sun
He may contend that light has made shadow
But in all truth, it is illusion
Shadows come from objects which block the sun

The earth turns away from the light
The sun neither rises nor sets
But darkness comes from the turning away
And truth is likewise, lest we forget

Take a flower from the sunlight and
It will quickly wither and die
We need the light to live and grow
Love is likewise, that we should know

Yet, we turn away, to the shadows for rest
Constant light, our imperfections will not bear
Wait patiently for the morning, children
Light and heaven are still there

We think of death as eternal night
We bury our dead beneath the ground
When a plant flourishes from a dried seed
No husk of the seed can then be found

Plant while you may, sowing wheat and corn;
Even these are nourished by the light
What we are given, passed on and reborn
There is morning, even to the longest night

About Me

My photo
Poet and musician Fabian G. Franklin invites you to join him on a poetic journey through the soul and nature.