P.S. I Love You Poems of P.S. Colley

A Collection of Mother's Favorites Wounds Mommy, get a band-aid. I fell and skinned my knee. Mommy, please spank Tommy. He took a stick to me. Mommy, I have a toothache. Please don't pull it out. Mommy, you make my ears hurt. Why must you always shout? Mommy, are you listening? Mommy, can't you hear? Mommy, can't you see I'm hurt? Look Mommy, Here's a tear. ~P.S. Colley Until I met him.......... I never knew a block of wood could be so many things. I never knew a tab top could be a diamond ring. I never knew a mattress could be a trampoline. I never knew that little men lived behind the screen. I never knew a piece of rope could be a rattlesnake. I never knew a pile of mud could be a chocolate cake. I never knew a shadow could be a monster's home. I never knew that white shampoo caused the ocean's foam. I never knew that bunnies lived in tops of trees. I never knew a little boy could think as much as he...... Until I met him. ~P.S. Colley For Jason, 1978...

          Determination Though ocean waves crash upon me, Though sun bakes skin to brown, Though dark nights laugh cold boldly, Nature will not frighten me down. Though thoughts of love confuse me, Though the clowns make me a clown, Though friends avoid, abuse me, Feelings will not drag me down. Though you and I may never be, Though together may never be found, Though there is no us, just you, just me, Loneliness will not lull me down. Though worlds unnumbered spin aimlessly, Though silence stalks all sound, Though I feel empty an eternity, My mind will not bind me down. ~P.S. Colley     

  One  Woman's Life Youthful beauty faded, vanity's vigor gone, I search within to listen  to an inner familiar song only to discover Love's blessings are far more beautiful. Wounded warrior scathed, courage torn and worn, I battle without to defy  a war cry that  drowns me out only to discover Hatred's din is far more deafening. Dream's hopes lacerated, wound, bound and healed by Him,   I accept again to ascend  stumbling block trails that never end only to discover His love is far more powerful. ~P.S. Colley

 So Be Kind We know not of another's suffering, The why or how of their agency use. We only know each is divine spirit, Which is reason to avoid their abuse. We know not of another's suffering, The where or when of each experience taught. We do know each child touches a Savior  When they reach for a consoling thought. So be kind So be kind For each brother of mankind For until all are aware That the secret is "to care", Each soul's suffering can never end. We know not of another's suffering. The who they are and what they think. We do know that each is a wanderer, Who needs a hand that holds all in sync. ~P.S. Colley January 2025 Songs of Fallen Angels

 Ode to Spring Cleaning Oh, I so enjoy the entry of spring With its time to awake and be clean again. So, I construe this glorious list, Bequeathed to those who might enlist: Gather the twigs. Stack winter's limbs Beside the pit Where firelight begins. Take the rake, Groom the yard. Remove the dead snake. Scrape off the chard From last year's grill. Flip the compost in its bed Pile beneath the daffodils. Where the stone path led To the wildflower meadow. Replant the lavender. Fertilize the shadows For ferns and coriander. Along the grassiest part of the brook, Move the gnome beneath the Gum. Put him at the old root's gnarly nook. Turn his face into the sun. Rake away the decaying leaves From December's melting pond. Do not disturb the frog, please. Turn the fountain on. Fill to full the feeders. Strew corn out for the deer. Dump three packs in the seeders Sprinkle wildflowers everywhere. Rake the acorns into small piles. Rake up all the stones and sticks. Stack them in ...

  Songbird Sitting, singing on a limb, her song reached in and captured him, Upon the wind as she did fly, he tossed a crumb and she did spy, Swooped to eat, he scooped her up, held her tight beneath his coat. She heard his heart pound with her own. Too fast he stole her from her home, Took her to his cottage dazed, locked her in a golden cage. "Sing my sweet bird." "Sing your song." "It pleasures me, so warble on." She sang of limb, she sang of sky, she sang of wind, desire to fly Up where birds belong, song free, until sweet notes turned sour pleas. "I miss my limb." "I miss my sky." "I need the wind." "I need to fly." She tried to sing but pain sounds sore. Soon her sweet song was sweet no more. He tired of it and no longer heard the pitiful plea of the lonely bird. Though she, so sad, did cry and plead, he never heard the want or need, Only the sour notes that pained his ears. He tuned them out, forgot her ther...

A friend in a pen A friend in a pen is all I seek To care with flair, as poets speak. I have no lust for sin's romance Nor for the thrill of unwilled chance. Just a friend in a pen to read and feel So moved to prove that love is real. I have no wish for pictured page Nor face to face a face that's aged. Just a friend in a pen to share the me That hides within where no one sees. I have no care for idle chat Nor for the sport of tiff and spat. Just a friend in a pen to write and say That thoughts aren't games for fools to play. I have no time for tired advice Nor cliches chore, a bore device: Just a friend in a pen too deep for prose Or small talk's pointless, turned up nose. I have no need to note my name, A true friend would require no claim. Just a friend in a pen who adores my style And despite time, recalls my smile. I do not know if in life's heart Dwells someone who will fill this part, Yet, a friend in a pen I seek to reach While no one cares save me and thee....

 Salvation Weary, I meander prayer whispering,  on rambled wasteland trails haunted by hard-hearted         and hateful half-truths that stealthily stalk the unhealthy soul. I perch on silent tiptoe's hope, teeter on restless terrains to wrestle sanity and regain some solid ground of peace. Trial's tumultuous tirade, tantrum  of a demonic whirlwind, spins a myriad of shadowy sins, to tempt and lead away brainchildren born to be orphaned by some stoic, egoic maniac. In man's world, I can only mope, hoping to somehow  miraculously cope with some pretend savior that shall  eventually forsake me. Teary, my eyes trickle onto paths of woeful wanderings  and bleed their unhealed sorrow, undaunted by lean, mean,  feigned-pain smiles.  Ripped with fright, bursting into nightmare screams, peace  seeks solace in rescue's slumber, and lumbers los...

  God's Whisper There is nothing mankind shall ever know    that will overcome or tempt one so that one cannot resist, learn, and grow. There is nothing mankind shall face alone that will overshadow one's thoughts of home,     that will deny one a life on one's rightful throne. There is nothing so strong, so true , so free,   that will override one's agency     that rules quest for righteous destiny. There is nothing mankind shall ever encounter that will overbear one's divine endeavor that wills one's life as one, forever.  ~P.S. Colley   January 1982 Revised June 2024 

  I Am I am prone to speak masterfully of meadows because I created the beauty of Earth. I am prone to seek the miserable in shadows     as mine adversary steals purpose in birth. I am prone to speak most  to those       who do not know  who I am. For mankind, I am the Great I Am. ~P.S. Colley Nov. 2024

Colors of Winter Bashful muted blue floats  its purest white anew atop the rising morning clouds  of mingling moistness where pearl grey gently gusts  its pillowed plush parade  across the streak-lined,  time illusive skyline. A shy silver sky intently listens  as she gaily glitter-glistens  over lavender laced hill lines,    and stalwart, patient horizons. Dry as ash black, shameless limbs  shudder their sulking silhouettes  against the sneak-creeping in  of a day darkening dusk. Twice ice-dressed wind chime,  peering through window's crystalline whimsy,  refrains from its frozen tinkle song of delight,     to stare uncaring into another flimsy night where peace can never find respite  from its dim-lit secret, t hat solo tip-toe frolics and flits amidst misty dusk-driven shadows. Reveling in the placid chill of sunset fingertips  that a...

    Impending Storm Thunder boasts its rumbling into a darkening distance. Leaf swirl dances on a rustling balmy breeze. Standing firm against the rush with a wishful resistance, The courageous fall to beg on humbled, bended knees. Tender sapling sways away and for tender mercy cries To shirk and shun the unforgiving wild east wind, Beseeching aged oak to shield from an oncoming tide Of a force that strikes fear into the faint hearts of men. Bold Bluster rustles into a formidable forbidden future, Dares men to dance to tunes of his mad, sad commands. Slithering weak, a bleak resistance seems nearly futile, As its echo is carried far beyond the ears of man. Battles bellow their cruelty across war-desolate lands, Seizing victims to a fate that the merciless planned. Once demonic lusts hold frail life in their greedy hands, Fools become slaves to the graves of destinies damned. For no longer do men seek Him and His purest power, Nor abhor lies they craved for crazed men to tell....

      Message in the Sand Endless, timeless, barren, desolate desert, Void of dewdrops precious minute blessings: Our world, or His? It matters not. As thirst's dry draughts tempt strangest thoughts To wither; wishful, meager unseen visions. Promises of tomorrow's rain smolder in sundrenched air, Wisped away until they are and care no more. So cruel crossing that bleak demon of a land, Falling, Crawling, sifting momentary sands Through hateful outstretched, tight clenched hand; One heavier foot tromping, mercilessly following another Into that hopeless, helpless emptiness. Now we become bleached, baked carcasses Weak, weather-worn to leather.  Can there be pain where there is no feeling? Yet hearts still beat each bead of salty sweet sweat, Regret no solitary tear left to shed. Together tired, trudging toward illusively Faint, fragrant horizons of faux fantasy mirages. Is there sanity in seeking, in searching wanton, wild wilderness Until all hope's lost?  Wande...

Living Statue Silent, he sits entranced in his own enigma of thought. I wait. I watch, Not knowing how to reach or touch him. And if I did, what would I discover? A man enslaved by his daring dreams of conquest, Or a little boy daydreaming of barefoot wading  in cool, shallow pools? So far away, absorbed in other worlds, is he. Too far away for loving eyes to see, for aching arms to reach, for romantic dreams to whisper, for lonely lovers to embrace. I wait. I watch, Not knowing how to reach or touch him. But if I could, what would I say? Come rest in the peace of my fond embrace, Or go away you hurtful fool that disturbs my life like a tempest tossed sea stirring? Your faraway absorptions in other worlds leave me Too far away for loving eyes to see, for aching arms to hold, for romantic dreams to whisper, for lonely lovers to embrace. I wait. I watch, As you break my heart. ~ P.S. Colley Sept. 1, 1989 Cries of the Unheard       

    Teardrop Born of mankind's melancholy moments a tiny teardrop,  trembling,  trails His face to drip and ripple, resounding, reaching others; resides in pools of purest, peaceful place. Captured, caught upon a wild wind,  whistling   into a whirling stream of teardrop trickles, trudging onward, forced to flow, to forever flee;  finds freedom a fleeting dream. Waits, watching those dashed upon damp moss stones. Some sadly sit   'til sun shall dry, as others flirt too freely with false shorelines,  soon to sand,  sadly sink in soil,  they fade, then die. Yet onward, on rushes, unrelenting teardrop, trickling,  twisting,  turning towards the massive mainstream sea of mingling,           man-managing; avoiding shadowed shorelines and  shimmering,  sun sparkled  wave caps, unleashed and free. Until the Master spies the unstirred ...

  Seasons of Love He did not come cloaked in fresh spring lover's lust Nor in a summer sky-lit shower of lunar stardust. And with autumn's pallet of bronze radiant rust, He painted purity with a winter's wet, white brush. I found kindness there beneath the rousing rush Of seasons falling, pouring down upon us. Oh, clean washed heart, how sweet the muse That teases thoughts and love reproves. You are all seasons, my reasoned rhyme, Cherished with tenderness throughout time. And through each season of smitten smiles, I pray one more day of my desperate denial.    ~ P.S. Colley      Dec. 2024  Cries of the Unheard

                                                                  Widow at the Window              Perched like a gazing mourning bird            on a worn, wooden windowsill, She waits alone at spring's noonday window Where shadows tiptoe through sun-streaked sheers Onto tainted tones of creamy lace tablecloths, Lost in a solace place where no one knows her,               where no one can harm her,               where no one can tell her who and how to be. She has learned not to listen to her innermost voices,        whining wiles of their most painful choices.       Time always tells her so,              (Or e...

    Four Fifteen Who will volunteer to search yesterday's years for buried slightest traces Of a people born to be weather torn from their prized and precious places? No more can chore of labor's scorn, scar their worry-ridden faces That rest in peace from harm, wrapped in gentle arms of God's embracing graces, For a torrent bound to drown a culture found its way through golden ages, To wash lives away with torrid tempests fed by unbound river rages. Who will volunteer to scout today's fears led by dog-sniffed scented traces Of a people floating on rapid's rafts carrying death on frozen faces? While stricken scavengers stumble cartwheels 'cross musty mud-washed lawns, Filling filthy pockets with trinket treasures of the "somewhere up and gone", Magic moments from a trouble's rubble 'cross the sad-tossed curious minds, Seeking meaningful understanding of God's will, drawn dark between fine lines. Who will volunteer to nurture a nature, prove...

Cold Dance Where wanton winter dares to dance,  there is no care for more,  no yearning to be entwined in the arms  of a half-choked, stale embrace,  Waiting for the pristine, breathable air, waiting for further icy emptiness, waiting for January's discontent with crumbs, more than a lingering taste, In a hungry world where desire dare not saunter its entry. Waiting for sunshine to burst and shatter, melting the blue-eyed bitterness  that stifles all affection's desire with remorse, dying unexpressed. Pray just one hint of a merry moment's moving to explode the frozen facade of farce into countless shards of sorrow....        with heartache feasts for the morrow. In a darkened world where light dare not tiptoe its entry. Yet, dare refreeze each crystalline captured moment within its snowflake, precious hexagon,           born of darkness squeezing light,      woefully w...