“There you are,” having fallen into helplessness,
lost in the pile of life’s debri.
I pick you up, dust you off,
dear old friend,
but don’t leave again…
I smile down at my long lost pen.
copyrighted: CMM August 2010
deep in reason, deep in thought.
No one to match his statistical mind
no one dead or alive, so far in time.
Mozart’s fingers crossed over the keys,
giving them melody and symphonies.
Practiced till his days were long
celebrated now in concert and song.
Freud who delved deep in the mind,
knew he had found the perplexed kind.
The id, Ego, and Super Ego distinct
put them together, the missing links.
Yet we look for original thought,
seeking harshly by scientist wrought.
Brilliant in their ways of thinking
only disappear among the sinking.
What is to say, what is smart,
if we only finish with what we start?
Or apply what is already known,
moving an inch from where its grown.
Time and space and Neanderthal man
has carried history from where it began.
Intelligent mind and the brain has grown,
yet still with intellect so little is known.
Shakespeare in his bloomers svelte
wrote of love and how he felt.
Yet he seemed to be confused
even in his witty muse.
He loved a lady fair with scarlet,
yet he often referred her harlot.
He loved a young male of letters wrote,
but begged him times a sorrowful note.
His mind of genius and of words,
repeated times are often heard.
In plays and sonnets and in verse,
thespians memories do rehearse.
So goes his thoughts of madness,
the soulful writer’s joy and sadness.
A Valentine’s Day of day’s remembrance
seek out your own Shakespearean semblance.
Copyrighted: 2007 CMM
Photo Copyrighted: 2003 CMM