Poem: Tending Love, Tending Blossoms

 

mindsalvage.com Tulip

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

Poem…Rethinking My Devotions and Clover Tea

CloverTea

 

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

Creativity, An Open Book

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

Twisted Path to the Present Moment

The moments in my life that have altered my direction of pursuit are much more in number than I would have ever guessed. Timing would have to be perfect for me to be where I am now. The cliché, “You play the cards you were dealt”, adds a bigger excuse or perhaps a larger understanding of why life does what it does.

I’ve read many books and articles about manifesting what we want in life. In my own experience, I have manifested many things, and I didn’t realize it until they were in the present moment. Looking back, I can now see how they were the start of a sequence of events that put me where I am now.

When I was a senior in high school I was preparing to be launched into the adult world by both my education, and my parents. My mother’s famous quote was, “I hope the hell you don’t think you’re going to live here the rest of your life, Buster!” My high school reputation was a mixed persona. I frequently got into fights and was a supporter of the underdog. This often put me in the position of body guard for the weaker person being threatened or harassed, and I didn’t take much grief from anyone who challenged me either. I also was a loner most of the time which led people to form opinions about me without really knowing me.

On the other hand, I was hard working and liked to write, especially poetry. Oddly enough, my dislike for the mundane practice lessons in typing class led me to having a book of poetry published. (I’ll tell you that story later!) It seemed very unusual to have so much positive attention, and it inspired in me a want for more education, but at the time I felt college was out of my reach.

Nearing the end of high school, graduation only a couple of weeks away, there was one incident that turned out to be unexpectedly life changing.  My class was the first to graduate from a newly built school, and on this particular day, a newspaper reporter was talking to our principal about the new school building we had been attending for the past six months. They were walking around the not yet landscaped grounds and discussing the plans in progress. I was watching, and noticed the principal reprimand a male and female student for holding hands while leaning on each other and talking during lunch break. It appeared harmless to me and everyone around, and his comments in front of the reporter were humiliating to them. For some reason, it really got to me. I thought it was unnecessary and demeaning, and I felt he owed them an apology for choosing to embarrass them in front of the reporter.

I decided to take it upon myself to straighten him out, and waited until lunch break was over and went to the school secretary. I remember being really upset, and felt determined to find the principal and tell him I felt it necessary he apologize to the two students. Noticing my clenched fists and angry look, the secretary Continue reading

Poem, The Trail We Crossed

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

Poem, This Piece of Earth

mindsalvage.comCanopy

This piece of earth,
So clearly framed in my mind’s eye,
Transformed life into a watercolor.
Brush strokes blended like free flowing rain.
This piece of earth,
My masterpiece in the making,
Faded when others took it away.
While my eyes were closed,
They stole my brush,
To make changes upon my vision.
They muddied up the vibrant colors,
With lack of caring.
Where birds once sang
And flowers bloomed,
Is filled with weeds
And branches without fruit.
This piece of earth,
That had pulled my heart to its beauty,
Now scarred by others,
Shunned me away.
I sadly left it there,
With those whose care was false.
They framed it as a decoy,
And hid this piece of earth so well,
It died alone.
©Rick Wyman

 

Poem, Loves of My Life

mindsalvage.comLoveRock

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

Poem, Cold Comfort

Frozen River Poem

Stepping on river rocks and ice,

Shadows of trout race by.

Snowbanks rise steeply.

Memories unfreeze my youth,

As warm thoughts of then,

Come back to me.

Eyes closed and vivid sounds trickle,

Boots slipped between snow mounded stones,

Where I searched for calm between the banks.

Freezing air awakened a need to go home,

Though I wish I could stay here listening.

February kept a promise,

Between the lighted window of home,

And time alone on the stream.

 

© Rick Wyman