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Friday, March 18, 2022

Spirit Musings of the Moon

Spirit Musings of the Moon Intricate webs of filigree, blackened veins of tracery before the orb of moonlight; lampshade burning bright How it fills the budding tree with it’s tentacles so ghostly charcoal fingers stretching in the dawn of early Spring There it torches inspiration in the poet’s imagination filling cracks with illumination to the soul of his being Such are thoughts that follow; The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, A headless rider; a horses mane, before a terrified Ichabod Crane The midnight ride of Paul Revere would have wished moon so clear like a lantern in the belfry arch a fateful night the British march Emily Dickinson, who would know a perfect face on her world below born from but a chin of gold; now shining in the morning cold So I stood there, thus entranced while my visions dreamed and danced wishing that the world could hear it; all these musings in my spirit

Monday, February 28, 2022

Nobody Famous

Nobody Famous I don’t wanna be nobody famous I just wanna learn to fly I’d like to find someone honest I could talk to I don’t want stacked decks and welfare checks I just wanna visit the moon maybe I could tag along with you I just wanna find a rainbow without sittin’ out in the rain Sometimes we all need shelter from the storm I don’t wanna be nobody’s hero It’s just no good to complain Sometimes I feel so cold I’m afraid I’ll never get warm I’ve got holes in my pockets and holes in my shoes and a big old hole in my heart where I used to carry a picture of you No superman cape Just a roll of duct tape for things that are falling apart like every sad dream that I ever knew I’ve got wet cigarettes and a ton of regrets that ain’t getting lit with the blues that’s the only things that I can claim Maybe I’ll feed the pigeons some seed forget about hoppin’ a train but I’ve got a feeling things will never be the same I don’t want to be nobody famous but I sure would love to try or try to love somebody else but you I get so depressed to think to myself I’m never gonna learn to fly Maybe I could walk awhile with you I don’t wanna be nobody famous I just wanna learn to fly I’d like to find someone honest I could talk to I get so depressed to think to myself I’m never gonna learn to fly Baby, maybe I could walk awhile with you

Sunday, February 27, 2022

VICTORY

Our smile may hide an injury from sliding in the dirt when someone spies our bloody knee and wonders if we’re hurt. Who cares if we are torn of skin? All wounds in time may heal. We played the game. We came to win. And victory is all we feel. Look upon a mother’s face; what radiant joy there be! And gone from it is every trace of agony in delivery. This mortal wound upon my soul; for sin, His blood was spilled Let it not keep me from the goal of following my Master’s will! When others look, let them but see the ecstasy on my face in the joy of my salvation and the victory of His grace. Like a patient on the table beneath the surgeon’s knife the great Physician, able to restore both health and life. It doesn't mean there won’t be pain or that we won’t have scars but victory in life is gained by peace and not from wars. We count all wounds as harmless which bring us life and hope. When suffering brings happiness, with such things, we can cope. And for the victory of love, we make every sacrifice but none so great as God above whose blood has thus sufficed.

Tuesday, November 9, 2021

Life is a balancing act
You have to cruel if your going to be kind on the battlefield of the heart and mind It's tough to be tender out there sometimes but life is a balancing act Warm can turn cold and cold warm to hot The seasons that change us wil take all we've got One thing you can't be is be what you're not but life is a balancing act Life is a balancing act part of it's fiction and part of it's fact Just try to keep your train of thought on the track... Life is a balancing act The see-saw goes up and the see-saw comes down the big old blue planet keeps spinning around One day you're lost and the next day you're found Life is a balancing act Love is expensive but passion is not But then, passion can be if you've got a lot Come early, stay late but be on the dot Life is a balancing act Life is a balancing act part of it's fiction and part of it's fact Just try to keep your train of thought on the track... Life is a balancing act Truth will make enemies, lies will make friends; a fact politicians may use to their ends Whether you could or should, well, that depends... Life is a balancing act Give all you've got if you've got it to give You can't take it with you so live and let live Remember this good advice I like to give Life is a balancing act

Monday, October 25, 2021

Dance of Autumn Leaves Where are they bound, this rushing, rustling army of leaves across the asphalt? In columns they gather to scatter again and again. Why do they dance, this swirling, twirling menagerie caught up in the wind? And look! They even ride the whirlwind, tumbling. We call these “leaf devils”, playfully gamboling over their fellows from the bellows to settle again like rambunctious children strolling. It is the mystery of autumn; the puzzle of fall, so quickly they run to their destination and we cannot watch them all. Yet, we delight in their flight from our sight. I hear them laughing in whispers, like sisters sharing some secret of silliness. It would appear their mothers are dying and still, they go flying, gypsies of unwillingness. Oh, how I long to run and dance among them; surely an onlooker would think me quite insane but the clouds above move with grace and love mingling their softness with rain. The ballroom floor of heaven is the ceiling. The leaves have caught that breath and feeling. It matters not to them, their final resting place. But to live and dance upon the wind is enough and to die within their dance is grace.

Saturday, August 28, 2021

Nobody Needs A Poet

Nobody needs a poet these days but once, in a more chivalrous age we were traveling minstrels welcomed by kings We were paid a ransom to entertain! But woe to that poet who used his wit for social satire and because of it was very quick in losing his head To wit, too often, then, was to be dead My, but that was the good life; with duchesses and dames Bowing at our feet and screaming out our names We were the rock stars of our time; we playwrights and poets; well versed in rhyme We feasted in the banquet halls and drank the dark red wine from kingdom to kingdom we danced, dueled and dined Ridiculed by the pious for our lack of sobriety We contributed, nonetheless a gift to society We were praised and appreciated regardless of our reckless ways Now, even Hamlet is antiquated and nobody needs a poet these days

Sunday, July 25, 2021

Mystery How often we look and do not see the reason before us or the mystery Everything known transcends depiction The truth is truly stranger than fiction Behold, this blade of grass that is lyrical It sings to the world, a common miracle It creates energy and food from the sun And from its roots, draws vibrant nutrition It can be said its soil is common dirt but man was formed from the dust of the earth Everything that lives and moves and breathes whether scales and fins or bark and leaves; Whether hair and bone or shell and skin everything holds a secret, deep within Even the stones and crystals we see are more miracle than mere geology But this blade of grass that I hold today will be trampled by footsteps along the way and the common folk, and this is tragic, will see neither miracle nor magic Man is a flower that blooms for an hour unaware of his lessons or godlike power His mind is focused on pleasant distractions or the toil of labor that pays for his actions He sees not even that his world is leaning on its axis and he gives this fact no meaning The earth spins around and brings the night because it has turned away from the light The light is consistent and always there but man is resistant to lessons and care He may even blame the sun for the shade and claim that by light, a shadow is made But light, in fact, does not darkness make unless some object the light will forsake The object absorbs the light in its strata and then, from the object, is born a shadow What fools men are who do not see the miracles here, and the mystery; who call this magnificent magic, “science” when all of their knowledge is of useless reliance They can only grasp the thing as it seems but ignore the grand universal scheme! They claim to understand everything when it is all quite beyond imagining But a purpose has everything under the sun and the lesson, complete, is learned by none What fools men become who close their eyes and being so foolish, claim to be wise The miraculous magic is everywhere but we live in darkness when light is there The blind lead the blind and fail, still, to see the reason before them and the mystery

About Me

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