Poetry
compassion
Hope

Art by Wicks
Poetry 8 

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COMPASSION

Laid out from continual stress
The struggle within to survive
Growing pain in all of the organs
Surprised that I'm still alive
Gently an aide raises my head
Addressing all sorrow and strife
Showing my source, waves emitting
You are mine, take no thought for your life

© Dale Wicks

COMPASSION 2

Running on empty...staggered from daggers...fire in the hole...there she blows...you're going down...how does it feel when you're on your own... all you can do is moan...no direct contact from home...you suck...down on luck...who gives a f*ck...roll over Beethoven...cause papas got a brand new bag...trick or treat...who stole the keishka ?...someone bring it back...cause I want to be higher than a kite by then...gather round gentlemen...tell me a story...speak to me sky .. going to tell me why...the first cut is deep...the second deeper...the thirds a killer ..Rio Grande is wide...Jordan river is chilly and cold...there's one born every minute...the greatest tale ever told...bought and sold...covered with mold...in human waste rolled...yet make you shine...of the divine...compassion.

 HOPE

In the aftermath of events
I had no hand in
and felt powerless to change
I stood in the tangible silence,
the brief intermission of events,
with my face towards the sun.
As I felt the warmth of the rays,
my unspoken question was answered
as new life sprang
from the dead limb.

    © Dale Wicks

SILVER  SPIRAL
( or the angel poem )

Angels, I've seen them painted
in armor by the score
Cute Cherubs with their bitty wings
for many to adore
My sightings have been different
yeah, some look human its true
Tho often they are spirals
of silver, of white, of blue
Many are pleasant and flowing
in surroundings are found at one
Some be cold and irate
like a discontented son

RUN LIKE HELL

One of my tactics
when things get hot
Not to rest in repose
but take off like a shot
Nervously seeking solution
my angst does fan the flames
Sprouting wings to fly away
had become my favorite game
Swirling in my intellect
inspecting every door
To run like hell, its happened
an exhaustive superfluous  chore

© Dale Wicks

DREAMER
I see the dreamer
who won't fixate
just flow in the current
and all the while, create.
 

COSMIC CRAP SHOOT
Why the title?
I like alliteration
To set a goal
and view it clear
with much determination
that's when the dice
are taken in hand
and the throw shows if plans
will fall or stand.
 

KA POOF
See the man
like a puff of smoke
Experience the land
with heart and hand
then move along
perhaps leave a song
or a fire in some souls
burning.