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

 Last Chance      Give out,     Give in,      no time left       to spend. I could cry but....      I don't.          I won't            give in            to them,                    to whom they                        cry for me                        to be.             For if I did,           I could not live              another moment                  without wondering....                     Could I have lived                 ...

    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...

  And so, sun rises ........... Frozen whitest white gale wails   dawn wisping beyond fairy frosted window, Sunlit writhing, benign dove awaiting in perfected patience   entangled in emerging morning's delightful solace. Barren bough arms stretch to embrace   each scant warmth that frigidly eludes them .       Yang and yin,   black-masked crow and milky delicate dove duel- dancing,   both eying tiny sunflower seeds   beckoning to them from fresh fallen snow                             piled daintily upon the porch rail perches.   As impudent crow devours with tetchy exuberance,   benign dove awaits in perfected patience,   faithfully fattened beyond flying,   spying the greater prize of peace,   a peace no crow can ever know,   befallen by betrayal of a winter's greedy hunger.  ...

  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~  c. 1989

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  tha...

                                                                  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...

 Lonely                                                                                      L isten as                                                                                           O ne more                                                                   ...

  Idolize Idol eyes beheld the wanton world and desired to woefully worship,      worship all that might befall the trial-tired souls of mortal men. Idol eyes beheld the imaged mirror and desired an unearned glory, glory beyond the fatal fall of the wretched death of mortal men. Idolized themselves the mindful master and desired conception's misperceptions,      misperceptions that discern the faithful fallen that cry alive to be divine, once again. Idol eyes cry, " Farewell, dear, divine spirit", undesired   the most desirous reflection,      reflection that deserves the miraculous awe, of He who rose above mere mortal men.  ~P.S. Colley c. 2026

S ome       h ave             a               m otionless                   e nergy.                        S ome                             h arbor                                  a                                      m asterful                                        e nemy.                    ...