Play

Play feels good
Yeah, I can play
But that feeling
Cannot stay

I’d love to be
Somewhat okay
But I can’t shake
This great dismay

I’ll play right now
I’ll play tomorrow
But next week
I’ll strain with sorrow

I’m not okay
Because some day
The worst will come
And it will stay

So I ask you
Do you know
How playfulness
In life should go?

Do I laugh now
And give way
Or do I drop
This whole array?

Can this burden
Be my game?
Or have I lost
With no acclaim?

If I have wisdom
I don’t show it
I’ve played the fool
But killed the poet

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Desk of Life

Sometimes I am a spinning top
Unstable and severe
And sometimes I’m a paper weight
Static and austere

I’m always on the desk of life
Peering off the edge
Or reading scribbled papers
While I spin around the ledge

But I proclaim there is no fate
Or if there is, I couldn’t know it
I can slink and sprawl
Or spin and fall
Or maybe just forego it.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light

Lost Dog


I’ve always dreamed of
finding a dog that’s lost.
I could be a hero for a day –
and I would do it at no cost.

I’d make a four-legged friend.
The kids would laugh and play.
I’d bow and wave goodbye to all,
and be on my jolly way.

But lost dogs are elusive –
more so if you stay in.
They certainly aren’t ever there
when I take the trash out to the bin.

I just checked the window,
but still, none are around.
I guess I won’t be finding dogs
that are not lost, but found.

Maybe next time I go outside,
I’ll just look for whatever’s there,
because perfect opportunities
are just too stinking rare.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light

Meanings


A snake had bit me
in my dream;
I grabbed it by the head.

Venom was in me,
it would seem,
so I whipped and beat it dead.

I looked for people
or a cure,
but I could find no aid,

and as I trudged on,
with pain so pure,
I forgot to be afraid.

I stopped to rest
beneath a tree
some time about midday,

and when I started
thinking free,
I knew that I would be okay.

What does it mean –
this dream I had?
I don’t think that there’s an answer.

You could examine
any tale and add
the legwork of a dancer.

I encounter things,
then make a choice
on how onward I shall go

and give little thought,
or little voice,
to meanings that I don’t bestow.

Copyright © 2018 – Adam Light

A Timely Story

 

I’d had some good times
some victories
but they’d been lost
beneath the seas
I couldn’t remember
setting sail
nor recall
why I departed
I was just a sunken,
sodden fool
who couldn’t finish
what I started.

On a seabed,
I fell asleep
and breathed the water
way down deep
I saw monsters,
ill of eye
and saw myself
in mirrored glow
I knew I was
a dead myth then
and that I had
to let it go.

I swam up and up
and out the sea
and relished in
that victory
I flew above
the rolling waves
that sparkled from
a full moon’s light
and told myself
a timely story
that would only
last one night.

Disorder

 

Disorder, Disorder, my newly-found friend,
when Order finds me, our reign will end.

Judging and thinking I have not a base,
Order will swoop in and stifle my pace.

So please, Disorder, help me remember
that when freezing to death, you are my ember

and when trekking through these rigid lands
I can still create fire with my frozen hands.

That fire can roar and burn into the night
and signal old Order that we’ll be alright.

The Listener

in a cool, dark room
quiet, tinted blue
a song was click-played
obscure and new.

the listener
anxious to be impressed
did not fully
in the ordeal invest;

with critical ears
and hands of decree
the song stopped too soon
unfortunately.

another song
was then given go
as the listener
checked the window,

this one was beautiful
and uplifting of soul
for impatient hands
had left the control.

Loom

When I read a stranger’s poetry,
I often do prepare
for too much sentimentality
and more clichés than I care bare.

Rhyming words are thrown abound;
archaic words are too much seen.
The poets merely like the sound,
with little care for what they mean.

But sometimes, I’m forced to stand,
and I pace around the room,
for the poet has put heart to hand,
and deep within me their words loom.

Peace

A budding peace
that I don’t know
surrounds my mind.

Thinking will cease
if I move slow
and act resigned.

If I move soon,
and think a lot,
I can evade

and be immune
to the onslaught
of peace’s aid.

And if I stay
who will I be?
And what is being?

I’ll find out today,
quite possibly;
I won’t be feeling.