Wishes:

It would be music that sustained him;
long nights, and bursts
of breaking
the silence.

Somewhere,
between sunset
and sunrise
his thoughts returned
to far-away people;
solitary beings, just as relevant as he.

He pauses the song,
mid-lyric,
and reaches back with his mind;


a calm container
of wishes.




`x~William / copyright: 03/30/09.

"Don't Worry,...

...it may never happen."

In my mind's eye, I can still see her;
a shimmer of doubt,

settling itself,
upon her face,--

recalling, with forgiveness,
every fearful prognostication,

falling upon the heads of children
like me --

her old,
wise eyes,
reaching past

those words--

so perfect in their comfort--

calling her
to task:

a wooden plaque,
indelibly fixed;

a gift,
she'd bestowed upon
the living.

`x~William ~ copyright-03/21/09.

Eternal Hope :

Life

becomes busy

in Springtime:

Each word read
is plucked from another river,
embracing,
inscrutable genius.

The sky
is a restful
thought,

pillowed,

till the 'morrow.

`x~William ~copyright 03/19/09

THE Friends & Favorites AWARD:

Note: I've been doing some reading today. Ummmm, ...this is going to take a lil bit more time.

This is what the "Favorite" award looks like:


Stay tuned. ...after 12 a.m. (EST)....

`x~William.

Friend AWARD ...from, Lil Bit !

recently, Lil Bit, awarded this to me!



Here are the rules:

“These blogs are exceedingly
charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”

***
***

Eight??? Okay!...I'll try![j/k...I have lot's of friends, honest injin!]

But, be-4 I list my 8 blogger buddies, let me postulate (extemporaneously) upon my dear friend, Lil Bit. She, in her friendship to me, has shown the utmost respect & has seen me through many of life's lil storms. Lil Bit is the kind of friend, who with humor & grace makes you feel as if you truly count for something in this life. She is a super, super, writer, and her gifts in "story-telling" are truly remarkable. This is a friend, who I've never met in-person, and yet, I hope to meet one day. Truth: This friend has extended my life.
I cherish her friendship. Thank you, Lil Bit, for being my friend.

Tomorrow, (Saturday night) I'll rustle up 8 bloggers who I either have as a friend
or, I'd like to be my friend (peeps I have commonality with; shared interests, etc, etc, etc)

[Lil Bit said, "Do with it what you will" :) (with the Award, that is.)]

In the meantime, "click" Lil Bit's name above, or her name in the side-bar. Go say, "hey!"...trust me, she's a super person. Love you, Lil Bit.

`x~William/Bill. 12:24 AM
03/13/09

Poet's Lil Advert. :

`x~William.
03/10/09.[12:04AM]

If...

"If
poetry

were all sweetness and light

there would not be a voice for generations."

Hard Lesson :

Have I said to you everything

that’s needed to say?

**

While the words pull at me,

a spent cigarette smolders in the safety-tray,

a car moves, screeching, up the road,

and, somewhere,

a kid confronts the probable conflicts of the street.

**

Have I told you of all I worry about?

All the worries of my mis-spent youth,

calling back to you;

recalling the presence of doubts and fears,

and the unasked tingle up the spine:

A darkened vision of the dead man,

lying next to a coffee table.

**

The memory of a loss conjures these things.

**

I’m clasping my chest, recalling the absence,

the shock, I felt

on a day like any other:

That empty chair,

tugging at me,

in its solidity;

the silence, encompassing the circle

of a hard lesson learned.

`x~William ~copyright, 03/06/09.

When I think of her eyes, and what they take in...

...everything is just as it was and always will be.


She sleeps in a blue colored dovecote and runs through green colored fields, getting closer;


pulling me closer,


endlessly, into her arms.



Somehow, we always awaken together:


Shared, merged, a fantasy, uninhibited, and sipped like a new glass of red wine.


**


Her eyes behold the same things I've taken in.


Our merging,


has emerged,


in Love.


WHB~copyright 03/03/09.

note to self: drop those commas!!!!!!

The Voices of Children :

Just for a moment
quiet yourself
and listen :

So much of unknowing
gives birth to a gem.

**

The Voice,
so familiar,
is cherished as Kin

for knowing
The What
before
The Wherefore
and
When.

WHB~copyright 03/01/09.

Relics [Notebook]:

Defining love, we fell into the journey. Freud was looking over our shoulders, chastising, with little understanding. Adam awoke and the Universe sang. They could not stop in the naming of things.
Around midnight, the few sparks gathered in an open meadow. These fierce pebbles debated the validity of fire. The water-carriers chirped in defense of the fields. Somebody, held them in check for a Season.
It was love, pure and simple, which brought these bodies together into some semblance of harmony. No Creator could hasten the pieces from falling into place.
The knowledge taken from a tree teaches limits; its rings chart destinies unseen.

If time itself were to collapse, forward motion would be irrelevant. Everything we hold as new would seem like dust particles; here today, gone tomorrow.
We pick things up, turning them in our hands, reaching towards light.

Only in sharing love, the give and take of Ages, do we find the relics to treasure.


`x~William. copyright*02/21/09.~2:48PM

I'm going to...

...try something new.

If I do,
don't be afraid.

Every thing of newness has its rewards and punishments.
When I began,
I was nothing more than a dribble-filled saucer's worth
of half-formed articulations and each vowel sound was music
to my mother's ears and when the time came for over-abundance I let loose
and decided,

quite rightly,

I might add,

to say some thing

new.





`x~William H. Balzac ~02/18/o9~10:43PM.

What We Need:

In these Uncertain Times
We need Poetry.

We call the shots
and call out

the bigger-shots
as they float
their Golden parachutes.

Somewhere,
between para-graphs written
and simple-man wisdom

We see Ourselves...

Us, merging with them;

as luminous as Our

Words.

Poet at Fifty:

Let me write myself

in a corner

and, dare to call it my own:

Its textures were dimpled at birth;

and, the eyes have always had it.

Let whatever wisdom carried

refashion

more stately clothes.

**

Let the Light that shines on all

be ever in my grasp.

**

I praise this day

and my lonely soul

and whatever

its captured;

its worth.

WHB~copyright: 02/12/09.

A Foot In The Stream:

I’ll tell you I’m working on it and you’ll know I’ve never lied;

each small step

sends ripples, circles, outward from this place.

There is no better comfort than boldness in times like these;
times, bespeaking, unsteadiness.

There is also the age factor to be wary of:

On solid ground,
your footfalls are leaving small traces
of your Soul.

[Do you not know this? The path widens your perspective, Child. Open your eyes, breathe.]

Do not attempt to pull me back. Daylight shall find me older today…

…The water is stirred, no matter what words escape my lips…

…Only circles of Time perceives them. I’ll carry myself, straight as the Dutch Elm,

a mirror of growth;

a foot,

in the stream.

[copyright:02/03/09]
W.H.B.

Validation:

There are moments, I know, when nothing can be expressed;

no words spoken, aloud. The failure of language becomes completely exposed,

like the maple tree in my front yard,

leafless and cold.

**

We set such a premium upon the spoken word,

little knowing the history its seen:

Old, black, men on porches

have taught.

Even, in the pause

and taking in of breath,

silence has its place.

**

When my silver-tongue ceases to speak

I’ll take my cue from these:

Bound and boundless

are words.

Only love

can find them.

See Me Fall :

Left to my own vices

I entered uncharted water.

The nightly news didn’t help matters.

Each morning,

I’d awaken, unshorn of warmth:

More of the same spent

feelings,

fallen

to

the floor.

*****************************

01/26/09~copyright~wbalzac.

I can play around, and laugh, all I want.

The feeble-minded will still be taken advantage of.
The middle class will still be impelled to look downward,
Angel.
The boxcar will only be a memory,
fading in the distance.
The peddler will forever be knocking on the backdoor.

Someday, my princess will come.
I can play around, and laugh, all I want.

All I need is more
important.

In between trains,
my sight transcends clarity.

The stiff-fingered boy
writes incessantly
about life.

The old man shakes his head
in wonder.

The thought moves on,
as a ticket is punched.

**
I can play around, and laugh,
all I want.

**
~x~William ~01/23/copyright2009

Where Ya Goin'?

• I'm in a really scattered mood. In every word,
• my dear, you'll find a blessing
• or, a curse.
• Don't step on my tie,
• break my session
• with passion,
• or,
• ride the train with strangers.
• If you happen to catch me talking to myself,
• pat me on the back,
• smile,
• and say,
• Where ya goin'?
• **
• (These days, it's the only relevant question.)

`x~William~01/22/2009

New Day, Martin....

~x~William H. Balzac (and, "PoetHeadsUp" @YouTube)