GREENWOLFE 1962 POETRY BLOG ( 2 )

IMAGINED LOVE

2010-03-27T22:30:00.000-07:00

You can find imagined love
Right there between the lines.
It's surely there , the love we see
The one our heart designs .

It still emerges vaguely,
Until you give it life.
It's only then, when flourishing,
It causes pain and strife.

You never can return it.
Nor can it be replaced.
It seems to disappear at once,
With both blind souls disgraced.

I do not choose to give you
Another soul's torment.
So I'll just ask you kindly dear,
Don't change the words I meant.

They are not written vaguely.
Nor can I thus conceive,
Of how you can imagine them;
The things, you now believe.

So, just remember truly,
Though it's the one you see;
Don't focus on imagined love,
The only love from me.

GREENWOLFE 1962

THE FOUR ETERNALS

2009-05-24T15:08:00.000-07:00

Love and Truth eternal
Beauty so as well
Gifts for those who know Him.
This, is how you tell.

GREENWOLFE 1962

To My Love

2009-05-24T14:47:00.001-07:00

If I could speak in simple words
The love I have for you ,
And reach your heart so you will know
How much my love is true .

I may not have to write these words
To say what you should know .
You'll always be my one true love
And I will never go .

You fill my life with joy and mirth ,
Your kindness soothes my soul .
And I shall always do my best
To help you reach your goal .

Yes, all I need in life my love
Is what you give to me .
And all I have is yours to hold
So darling , don't you see ?

I have no sorrow or regret
And this much I can say .
I'll love you dear , with all my heart
Forever , and a day .

GREENWOLFE 1962

Love Uncertain

2009-04-10T09:34:00.000-07:00

I guess you lost your patience,
And found a broken heart.
I should have told you sooner,
Uncertain love's, not smart.

In courting love uncertain,
You can't get any more;
Than what they choose to give you,
I told you this before.

I'm sorry for your feelings.
I know you're very hurt.
But when you take a lover,
You get a just dessert.

So while a cherished moment,
May seem a certain love.
Remember, love forever,
Is what you're dreaming of.

And that is what it is you see.
A dream that can't come true;
As long as you're pursuing,
Uncertain loves, untrue.

So stop, and just consider,
Should you become its wife;
The choice of love uncertain,
Means chosen pain for life.

With painful love considered,
You must now fear the thought.
So run from love uncertain,
It always comes to naught.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Harmony I ( Who Cares? )

2009-04-10T09:32:00.002-07:00

Who cares about their color?
They'd twinkle anyway .
Someday they'll both have places
In Heaven's bright array.

Who cares about her poundage?
She still looks very nice.
My arms still reach around her,
I think that will suffice.

Who cares about her cleavage,
Whatever size they are?
I'm sure they have their beauty.
I never got that far.

Who cares about her hairdoo?
She's going with the flow.
I doubt if she considers;
But that's not bad, you know.

Who cares how old she's getting?
She's still the same to me.
Sometimes I take for granted,
We both shall always be.

But care, I do, about her.
In life, above all things.
And cherish every moment
We share, from which it springs.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Harmony II ( The Fourth True Love )

2009-04-10T09:32:00.001-07:00

Yes, it shall be remembered,
Long after we are gone;
How much I loved her truly,
Till we were called upon.

Called upon to leave this world
Of doomed love now and then.
Bound for certain destinies,
Perhaps, to meet again.

If it's true, then in your time,
While you are here below;
The truth of love eternal,
Both she and I will know.

So here's a clue to guide you,
To love beyond your days.
The truth is, love eternal;
Is formed in many ways.

The first, is just by friendship.
The second, joys unbound.
The third, is inner beauty;
The one that I had found.

There is a fourth to cherish,
Though it's quite rare you see.
The one that's formed in Heaven.
The one called, Harmony.

GREENWOLFE 1962

True Love

2009-04-04T20:10:00.001-07:00

Some say its found in fairy tales
Or clings to stars above.
A mystery, is how it comes
To be; what's called, True Love.

The flowered bed it makes for you,
Yields only peaceful dreams.
And all contentments men desire;
Surround True Love, it seems.

You can't pursue its treasured gifts,
They're always out of sight.
But all True Love, when ere it's formed;
Is cherished, just, and right.

I wouldn't doubt it spies on us
From some secluded place.
So it can pick a ripened heart
To hold in its embrace.

So be prepared, when it finds you,
To welcome its display.
No rationale will ere explain,
Should you turn it away.

Somewhere within someone you know,
Where it's been from the start.
You'll find it waiting there to cross
The bridge to your own heart.

And when you read the manifest,
The list, of all it brings.
You'll find it filled with Heaven's joys;
And all, life's treasured things.

GREENWOLFE 1962

So Long , Yet Far Away ( M. V. )

2009-04-04T20:07:00.001-07:00

I've often told of her before
And I will tell thee now.
That Autumn many years ago;
It lingers still, somehow.

In glancing up again I saw
The girl I'd seen before.
A maiden dark I still recall,
Too special to ignore.

I stood, this time, not far away.
She seldom came so near.
I hoped and prayed she'd notice me.
Why was I gripped with fear?

She wore a cloth of simple spin.
Twas not much I confess.
It dawned on me, as she approached,
I thought of her no less.

The closer to her sphere I drew,
The nearer more she came;
I realized and then could tell,
True love, was sure to blame.

She pushed her glasses on her nose,
So better she might see.
Then smiled a most delightful grin;
And looked so sweet at me.

I couldn't speak a word back then.
She mesmerized you know.
I doubt if she could comprehend
How much I loved her so.

She said, ' Hello ', and touched my arm
And winked a little too;
Then turned her head and stroked her hair,
The way girls like to do.

My eyes met hers, and there they are;
As ever they have stayed.
I wondered then, as I do now.
What mistake had I made?

She talked as though she knew me well,
Though we'd met but once before.
Twas then I knew, this love was doomed.
I'd lost at love, once more.

She said she couldn't stay too long.
She had to meet someone.
As if to make it, oh so clear;
I'd never be the one.

She didn't have to bother though,
I knew it anyway.
Another love, was mine to keep;
So long, yet far away.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Passing By

2009-04-04T20:04:00.000-07:00

Today they stood in silence,
While trying not to cry.
They gathered round the casket
So slowly passing by.

Their heads were bowed in sorrow.
They seldom said a word.
The shuffle of their footsteps
Was all the sound you heard.

In coming to the service,
I thought it was quite true;
We seldom show our feelings
Till after life is through.

I'm proud to say I knew her,
The one that passed away.
There's much that I could tell you,
But I shall not this day.

They had their chance to tell her;
They loved, but never did.
How much they could have shown her,
The love that they kept hid!

She said it didn't matter.
But I knew it was the case;
That we all need the comfort,
That comes with love's embrace.

And so, they came to worship,
And pay their just respect.
To she, who dearly loved them.
Who died of their neglect.

And so, I took a moment,
To say a prayer and cry;
For those who stood in silence,
As she, came passing by.

GREENWOLFE 1962

My Life

2009-04-04T19:58:00.001-07:00

Base pain, my loves companion.
Torn hearts, on which to dwell.
If not for love lamented,
I'd have no tale to tell.

A search for life's contentment.
Exploring grief and joy.
The wonders of God's nature.
The time I was a boy.

I'll write them all once over,
Such things as may be said.
And hope they'll be as joyful,
As anything you've read.

But if you find them boring,
Or not your cup of tea.
Remember it's my story,
However it would be.

So take some time to linger.
A moment of each day.
It's just for your enjoyment,
I wrote my life this way.

Because this is a special poem which reflects my life and my
poetry it has earned a special place in my own Hall Of Fame.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Imagined Love

2009-04-04T19:56:00.001-07:00

You can find imagined love
Right there between the lines.
It's surely there when transported
Into our hearts and minds.

It still emerges vaguely,
Until you give it life.
It's only then, when flourishing,
It causes pain and strife.

You never can return it.
Nor can it be replaced.
It seems to disappear at once,
With both blind souls disgraced.

I do not choose to give you
Another soul's torment.
So I'll just ask you kindly dear,
Don't change the words I meant.

They are not written vaguely.
Nor can I thus conceive,
Of how you can imagine them;
The things, you now believe.

So, just remember truly,
Though it's the one you see;
Don't focus on imagined love,
The only love from me.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Sorry

2009-04-04T19:46:00.001-07:00

Some are 'sorry' creatures.
They use that word so well;
I bet you've heard it often,
On this they dare not dwell.

For if they took a moment,
To count the 'sorry' toll;
They'd be so disconcerted,
And frightened for their soul.

They choose to just ignore it.
As they do all those things;
They did to force its usage,
And from which, 'sorry' springs.

They much prefer a falsehood,
Born dead of cold disdain.
That 'sorry' will absolve them,
From having to explain.

But God will not hold friendly,
The souls who take this course.
Repeated crimes of passion
Make meaningless its force.

It's time you heed this calling.
I'll say it one more time.
Repeated use of 'sorry'
Is lovings hidden crime.

It's not enough to say it,
And then just walk away.
God requires that love be healed,
Before it's held at bay.

'Sorry is as sorry does',
I bet you've heard before.
Pray you never see these words,
They're found on Hell's front door.

GREENWOLFE 1962

The Lord Of All Illusions

2009-04-04T19:44:00.001-07:00

The love that fate, in humor,
May grant a younger heart.
Will keep it pure and wholesome,
Though It's been torn apart.

As lost loves still engender
A pain at every turn.
A short term loss of memory
Is but their least concern.

But pleasure, ever present,
As all young lovers know;
When vested in such virgins,
Maintains an afterglow.

And built on firm illusions,
Young lovers, may, in vain;
Find mercy in believing,
Their love may live again.

So easily rekindled,
It only takes a spark.
Ignited by a kind word,
Into a flaming arc.

I caution every lover,
Don't be deceived by this.
It's only an illusion,
And one you should dismiss.

The myth words, here, are written.
A wisdom, best ignored.
The lord of all illusions,
'Lost love, can be restored '.

GREENWOLFE 1962

My Devotion

2009-04-04T19:41:00.001-07:00

If pain were your compassion
And tears the joy I had.
If tormenting me became your life
And my suffering made you glad.

Were hard drugs your slow undoing,
Deceit your calling card.
If your heart was bound in sorrow
And your passions frozen hard.

Were your touch not soft or gentle,
Your kiss both cold and blue.
And your arms reserved for strangers
on some distant avenue.

If time forgot to soothe my pain
And you just walked away.
And if you chose another heart
On our solemn wedding day.

It may be too much sorrow
And much too many tears.
But it's not enough to quell my love
My devotion through the years.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Love's Fortune

2009-04-04T19:39:00.001-07:00

I was merry not, in two was I,
And round the clock I wondered why.
So free I did what man should do,
Forget the bitch and start anew.

You know of this how boughs can break
How rivers run, how worlds can shake.
And as you told me to before,
'Goodbye, ' I said, to love once more.

Now free, I thought what life should be,
When came your love to rescue me.
Though lost in love as I was then,
Loves once fulfilled don't yearn again.

With you I make my time and seed,
Fortold by you the love I need.
And that I know, for I can say,
I'm fortune blessed you came my way.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Life's Companion

2009-04-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

Fear, is life's companion.
And death's from which it springs.
So do not drink its water.
Refresh in other things.

Life, which has no father.
No faith to make its form.
Is destined to be famished,
As that's the troubled norm.

Life's not born of wisdom.
It's born of having faith.
For that's the form of substance
Contained in every wraith.

Every life's companion
Shall fade as time goes by.
If man can find the courage,
That says you shall not die.

Here is life's true wisdom,
That fear may fade away.
Believe you have a father,
And you shall drink each day.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Love

2009-04-04T19:23:00.000-07:00

There is not just one great love
For each as God has planned.
Who can say which manifest
Of it He may command?

The precious love of childhood,
So hallowed and so pure;
Can never be extinguished.
Like God, it shall endure.

The fortuned course of young love,
So fickle in its fate.
Sometimes to be abandoned
Before it can abate.

Orphaned love, developed late,
Is often bought at cost;
Bringing love to many hearts
Who've often loved and lost.

Aged love; in life's decline,
Is there to fill the holes,
Opened by the fates of life.
To solace lonely souls.

All such loves appear when due.
Most blessed with peace of mind.
Each are then, by those we love.
Accepted or declined.

GREENWOLFE 1962

The Girl Who Didn't Mind

2009-04-04T19:20:00.000-07:00

Her grip was firm, her muscles taut,
As she held onto the chain.
I tried to look the other way,
As I stood in the lane.

But I was mesmerized instead,
By her every swing and sway.
I still recall the way she looked,
That sweet, bright summer's day.

She must have thought she was alone,
Though I really didn't know.
Sometimes girls just like to,
As they say, put on a show.

Her hair flew back and trailed behind,
Then curled around her face.
She didn't seem to mind at all,
It settled every place.

They dangled up and dangled down,
As she rocked them to and fro.
I guess she really didn't mind,
How much her legs would show.

She wore a yellow dress with lace,
But I really didn't care.
I was just a boy back then,
So lucky to be there.

Her dress blew up her slender back
To reveal her every charm.
I guess I shouldn't then have looked,
But I thought, what's the harm?

She sang a gentle song of joy,
As girls will sometimes do;
When they are lost in dreams of love,
Of boys they never knew.

I looked again to see what more
She might reveal this time.
The swing came back and once again,
I guess it was a crime.

I smiled, and then I turned away,
Though I might have looked some more;
For I had seen them all that day,
The charms young boys adore.

I went to see her one more time,
Was just the other day.
It was good to notice once again,
Her beauty on display.

I just went by to give my thanks
For her gift of all her charms.
And then I gently placed a rose
Across her folded arms.

I still don't know just why she did,
She really must have known.
Perhaps it was her private game,
Pretending she's alone.

However strange it came to be,
She knew what not to wear.
I guess she may have hoped some boy
Might just be standing there.

But even if she didn't know,
I thought it oh so kind;
For her to be just as she was,
The girl, who didn't mind.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Waste Love

2009-04-04T19:15:00.000-07:00

Don't be afraid to turn me down.
It never has been free.
And I'm prepared to pay the price,
The cost of loving thee.

Rejections are the common dues,
The fees for what I do.
Finding souls who I can love,
And losing ones like you.

Though most lost loves just walk away,
As often as it's done;
I much prefer rejection's sting.
So please, just turn and run.

And don't leave out the parting words,
The ones some always fear.
The ones, somehow devoid of truth;
Which make it oh so clear.

The best of all these parting words,
That I am just a 'bore'.
Is just so bland and insincere,
It's easy to ignore.

And don't forget the crucial thing
So valued here on earth.
The note that says someday I'll find
The girl who knows my worth.

These truly are such mirthful words
I'm bound to go away,
Joyful and content again.
To die, once more, this way.

You know, of course, just who she is.
The one around the bend.
The one that's waiting just for me.
The one that God will send.

The one, that could be anyone.
Just anyone, but you.
The one for whom I yearn this day,
For whom my love is true.

Yes anyone but who you are,
Is suited just for me.
It's only those I've never loved;
Who love me, don't you see.

This, of course, is what you mean.
And that's what brings me joy.
The myraid of reasoned words
Girls use to dump a boy.

So go ahead and turn me down,
Reject my love so true.
I have so much stored up you see;
Waste love, is what I do.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Warrior Swan

2009-04-04T19:13:00.000-07:00

Born a Virgin Diplomat
To die a Warrior Swan.
Most of them just didn't fit,
The guises I put on.

I wished for all life's colors.
Broad purple, pink, and green.
Most of them, long since turned grey.
The rest, I've never seen.

I lost it all quite early,
As was to be my fate.
But as a fan of romance,
I never chose to wait.

I did escape, and often.
But never flew away.
I hoped to see the colors.
Perhaps, by chance, someday.

That's why I've come full circle.
Who knows what track I'm on?
Journeys once of many days,
Now end before the dawn.

Whatever thoughts may plague me,
I've wings to fly away.
A quiver full of arrows,
To pen mark every day.

With much to write, and often.
And less to dwell upon;
I have not missed my calling,
To be a Warrior Swan.

GREENWOLFE 1962

War Crimes

2009-04-04T19:11:00.001-07:00

It's time I stood and spoke of war,
A candid speech display.
To tell you things you used to know;
Forgotten, on the way.

I hear they plan to have a trial
Of criminal intent.
Displaying soldiers in a cage,
Who blessed this sad event?

They say they did a most foul deed
By killing innocents.
Just retribution, as they say;
An evil consequence.

Its time I lay to rest, at last,
A base canard of life.
That war is one more legal way
To deal with pain and strife.

I hate to put it bluntly now,
But most of you won't hear;
If I would only gently speak
These words you need not fear.

Some time ago, a wisdom born
Of death and man's intent;
Was fostered on the souls of men
To hasten their descent.

It said that there are crimes of war
That men must never do.
And perpetrated, in this way;
A values dream, or two.

By doing this, they justified
The basest deed of all.
And legalized, with mal intent;
Man's certain, deadly fall.

I'm here to tell you true at last,
What you already know.
The concept there are crimes of war,
Has never thus been so.

Whatever deed is done in war,
As jusified by man;
Is covered in the book of faith,
As per the Master's plan.

There is no deed a man may do
In war that's his intent.
The moral choice was duly made
The day that he was sent.

Man makes his choice when he decides
To yield his soul to man.
And joins them in the enterprise
Of evil deeds they plan.

When after yielding up his soul,
He then is sent to war;
It doesn't matter what he does,
He can't yield anymore.

There is no crime he can commit
Against his fellow man.
No grading of the deeds he does.
In Hell, there is no fan.

So let me bluntly tell you true.
And take this to your graves.
The only roads there are to Hell,
Are those which war sure paves.

It's war itself, that is the crime;
That dooms mens souls to Hell.
The laughs you hear, they come from me;
It's war, that needs a cell.

GREENWOLFE 1962

The Black Things

2009-04-04T19:08:00.001-07:00

Please don't forget the Black Things.
They're with you where you go.
And always just beyond you.
The next mistake, you know.

It may not be your doing.
Sometimes, his judgement fails.
For always there'll be damage;
When man, forgets details.

But often, its your doing.
A fatal choice of deed.
That short term lapse of judgement,
That Black Things surely need.

They come upon you quickly.
Sometimes, out of the blue.
Though if you saw them coming,
There's little you could do.

As certain as the nighttime.
Gives way for every day;
I'll bet you see a Black Thing,
Appear to you someday.

These things you must not question.
The things that should not be.
These things that make you human.
They're all Black Things you see.

So if you see a Black Thing,
And its standing next to you;
Remember its of all such things,
The one that's tried and true.

But here, though you can't kill it.
You may keep it at bay.
Just by telling someone,
You love them, everyday.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Paying

2009-04-04T19:05:00.000-07:00

I've got to rest my weary mind,
It labored hard today.
It washed my clothes, and fixed my chair,
And threw my trash away.

It focused every moment spent
On things it shouldn't do.
For all I know it wasted those,
By thinking just of you.

I should have paid for overtime,
But can't afford it now.
I spend it all on silly ways
To keep my sacred vow.

She still don't know, I act the same.
I've learned how not to tell.
Sometimes, I think it best she know.
Perhaps, it's just as well.

For now, you haunt my sleeping hours
By seeping through my dreams.
I can't escape you anymore.
My thoughts aren't mine it seems.

How can I live my life this way?
This man, whom she adores.
Not seeing harm in telling lies,
As I have told her scores.

What joy is there in keeping vows,
A weary mind can't say?
What rest is there to thus be found
While holding love at bay?

I guess I've got to pay somehow
For what I want to do.
My mind is working overtime.
And payment's, coming due.

GREENWOLFE 1962

Owls , Werewolves , and Victims

2009-04-04T19:03:00.000-07:00

The owl waits and watches,
Oh patiently.
Waiting for werewolves,
Victims to see.

Into the nighttime,
So harmlessly.
Knowing I'm coming,
Waiting for me.

The owl ponders questions,
So quietly.
Knowing no answers,
What could they be?

Late in the nighttime,
So silently.
Here I come seeking
One just like me.

The owl sees me coming,
Oh, carelessly.
Wish I'd come sooner,
Where's Rosalie?

Into the darkness,
So purposely,
Hoping to see her,
Waiting for me.

The owl waits and wonders,
So hopefully.
Looking for Heaven,
Where could it be?

Late in the darkness,
So solemnly.
Victims of werewolves,
People like me.

This is the only poem I have posted from which
a reader may draw more than one interpretation.
I normally, do not write such poems; but I was
in a very good mood and I chose this way of
having fun. There is a meaning intended by me.
However, it is written in such a way, that the
meaning I intended has been overwhelmed by
the various interpretations. Have fun!

Given the fact that the readers have been able to
find those various and unique interpretations I spoke
of in this poem, I have placed it in my Hall Of Fame.

GREENWOLFE 1962

November Love (My First Poem)(Two Versions)

2009-04-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

Below, you will see two versions of my very first poem.
Its important to understand that the first version of the poem
is exactly as I wrote it at 6: 15 to 6: 30 PM on November 2nd
1970. I made no changes to it. It is also important to know
that this was, in fact, my first ever attempt to write a poem
of any kind whatsoever. The second version is modified from
the first because I wanted to demonstrate how a few simple
word changes can convert a rather average poem of some
quality into a poem of great quality and structure.

In early November the air is clear
With many sounds of lovers near.
Not as the April birds that sing
Nor as the Sunday church bells ring.
But rather to the rhythm of rain,
The hearts of lovers beat again.
For it's not true love that blooms in spring
Nor is it of love that birds do sing.
Rather of that love soon gone
And never seems to carry on.
That April love that all partake,
But very few ever make.
It's all year long this false love swells
Till in November true love dwells.

In November the air is clear
With many sounds of lovers near.
Not as the April birds that sing
Nor as the Sunday church bells ring.
Rather to the rhythm of rain,
The hearts of lovers beat again.
It's not true love that blooms in spring.
Nor is it love, that birds will sing.
But rather of that love soon gone
Which never seems to carry on.
That April love that all partake
And very few will ever make.
It's all year long this false love swells
Till in November, true love dwells.

I have removed the voting option on this poem
and placed it in my Hall Of Fame, due to its
history described above and its usefulness as
an example to the readers.

GREENWOLFE 1962

PERHAPS

2008-11-22T23:41:00.000-08:00

I took a trip last weekend
And you were at my side .
Perhaps , you never thought of me .
What feelings did I hide ?

Perhaps , I should have spoken.
What soul did I ignore ?
Were you the one I needed so
And lost , forever more ?

As I cannot know the truth .
It ran from me again .
I guess I'll journey out once more .
Perhaps , I'll see you then .

I'll need another placement .
Perhaps , one next to you .
The reader of this poemed soul .
The heart , it's written to .

GREENWOLFE 1962