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1

Words flow onto paper like rain, forming giant rivers of unseen lands.

The very force guides us along a journey that holds of great adventure.

We are the explorers of the literary world.

We must find the courage to write what others are unable to, with the greatest of passion.

A poet dreams, and then must portray his visions upon the page that lies before him.

It is the beauty of all things that inspires us to communicate in such a way.

A man does not wake up one day, and decide to become a poet.

It must live in the very blood that courses through his veins.

He is the creator of a world, only he has known.

He is the actor and director, of all that speaks out through his pen.

He is a man of all men, visionary of all visionaries.

What you haven't seen, he has.

What you can't say, he can.

For he is the poet.

Goodbye

  

2

Crispy chimes of autumn, spread out upon Natures floor.

The falling greens of spring and summer, now taking on a brown like decor.

Bare bodies stand naked, their bones clanging in the wind.

Hoping to soon be reclothed, by winters cool new offerings.

  

3

I kneel down before the shallow waters, to reveal my own reflection.

Just a mere window of the soul, is all that my eye's can be detecting.

For what all that I consume, is not all that there is.

We must look beneath the visual shell, for that is where we live.

Reach deep my Friend and you shall find much more than you conceive.

For who or what we may become, exist inside of thee.

  

4

A poem is but a thought, a mere memory caught at play.

One's visions reenacted, by the passing of each day.

Treasured waking moments I've accumulated along the way shall be locked within these pages,
where they’re forever bound to stay.

  

5

It happened one summers afternoon.

In a small suburban town off highway eighty-two,

I watched with amazement as it dropped out from the sky.

This giant enormous cloud that had turned category five.

Twisting and turning as it moved across the land.

Crushing hapless precious life beneath it's powerful ragging hands.

No remorse for the victims that lied tight within it's grip.

It continued leveling the town into a lifeless graveyard pit.

Where homes once stood, only rubbish still remains.

In a small community caught in the middle of Nature's violent rage.

  

6

It was through broad stripes and bright stars, that this great Nation has been born.

A symbol of our freedom, that has continued to be worn.

America united we stand, proud of our long beliefs.

That all who wish to live among its land, shall forever share in its peace.

  

7

Let tomorrow sleep soundly, behind its present day.

Till morning beams come along, requesting it to awake.

Only then, shall it rise up a brand new sunny day.

For a future that soon turns around, addressing tomorrow as today.

All of the above poems are © Copyright Robert Hensel 2002. They may not be copied or reproduced in part or in total without prior permission of the author.

Robert M. Hensel was born in Rota, Spain in 1969. Currently a resident of Oswego, NY, he is a freelance International poet-writer with over 700 publications under his belt. Some of his most recent publishing credits include: New York Review, The Australian Poetic Society, Head in the Clouds: Christian magazine, and Picture & Word just to name a few. Robert also serves as an Advocate for the disabled, an on going effort to better the rights of every disabled American.

Email Robert Hensel : poetic_bob_2001@webtv.net

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