Though death has sought me
Several times at least.
I’ve prevailed as my will has possessed my strength
I’ve not let death decide my end,
While my decisions, and God
Have provided me a home on earth.
The distance to heaven is but a blink or Continue reading
Spring flowers push their way through to see the sun,
Babies push their way through to see the faces of love.
Sharing warmth and creating beauty.
Everyone means something to someone.
A garden of many blossoms, tended by one,
Creates a place to admire.
A comforting face, seen by many,
Assures that beauty comes from within.
Sharing self, to make another blossom,
Brings the lives of many, out into the light.
(c) Rick Wyman
I don’t want to sit around, mixing my emotions.
I need to settle down, with my long days of devotion.
It’s been a life of watching, my ambitions reflecting,
Back into my eyes, too much time rejecting.
Sure to make myself smile, before this time is over.
I’m spending my next quite a while, making tea from clover.
There are people who make my heart’s desire
Satisfied as a cold man beside a roaring fire.
The chills I feel as I Continue reading
I have always had a therapeutic relationship with poetry and song lyrics. Writing free verse poetry helps me work through loneliness, worries, and tell my story creatively. My thoughts were always being written on paper, even as far back as when I just began to write. When I was in High School, writing seemed to help me better relate to the world and people around me. I had a stressful home life, and mostly kept to myself. I felt writing was a way to share a little about me with others. I read poems to friends, sang songs with lyrics I’d written, and was a self-taught guitar player.
My senior year in high school, a special teacher who taught business and typing, recognized that I had a passion for writing poetry. I sat in his class typing my poems while I was supposed to be typing a sentence over and over for a time and accuracy test. It was something like, “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.”
Noticing that I was not following the assignment, he told me I needed to do the time test to pass the class. I replied, “I took this class to learn how to type and I can type now.” I wasn’t as concerned about the grade. I was typing about 35 words per minute, which I thought was pretty good for a recent beginner. Rather than flunk me, he went to the school board to get permission to pass me if I could type the required words per minute, even though I was not typing the prescribed lessons. They gave him the permission, and he made a template and had the whole class type my poems. I didn’t know it, but he had a plan in mind, and gave me a priceless addition to my education. My classmates typed inside the borders of the template so it would all be in a uniform fashion. I remember feeling as though this teacher was the first person to give me a chance to be creative and pursue my personal interests, and it helped that the class seemed to enjoy reading and retyping my work.
The teacher and I discussed the possibility of having this collection turned into Continue reading
Soft pine carpet
Where birds silently land
And gentle rain disappears
My love beside me
Beneath a towering canopy
Of green shade
A place of heavenly rest
Of warm hope for future dreams
The brook speaks in a calming voice
The trail we crossed
Stopped here so our minds could wander
Love within and beauty in view
This place of spaciousness
Contains the things to give me passage
To look beyond this day
And turn memories into smiles of contentment
And wishes into tomorrow’s happiness
© Rick Wyman
Sometimes I hear my breath turn cold,
From behind I think I’ve gotten too damn old.
But then there’s a ray of bright warm sun,
That takes my memory on a run.
The days replay upon my mind,
My life’s truly one of a kind.
Drawing a line across the sky,
More than just clouds drifting by.
Those dreams are seeping out in my words,
Carried from my heart by singing birds.
Love keeps me in this worldly space,
The need for warmth shows on my face.
I’ve never hoped for anything more,
Than those with me now I adore.
A half century of empty years,
Turned to love, happiness and cheers.
I’ll live the rest of my life,
With the love of my daughter and wife.
© Rick Wyman
If love were as moist soil
With flourishing plant life,
Growing tall and beautiful,
And if her lips were the dew
I awoke to each morning,
I’d be, In The Dust.
If her hair were a shower
Which covered my face,
I would like to give thanks for being here now. I am thankful for the lessons I’ve learned from a disease that I had originally feared. The fear turned into acceptance of the responsibility for changing Continue reading
Decades have no sense of passing,
They blend like olive oil in salad dressing.
Some sinks and spends very little time,
Saturating into the leaves.
Flavors of life depend on who is tasting.
Life is much time spent breathing the aromas,
And contemplating its placement in the meal.
With the decades come love and memories,
Making new life out of happiness.
Making love and dreams out of being in love.
Searches that went nowhere,
Following maps with no destination.
We arrived here today,
Together, never really alone.
Taking decades, waiting without knowing,
When today would be,
Because it was always tomorrow till now.
Fresh greens and the new fragrance,
Of gently crushed peppercorns.
Spice and life blended to perfection.
© Rick Wyman
