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Pen And Paper (Park Bench Watching)

by Walter Jones (Age: 69)
copyright 04-20-2008


Age Rating: 13 +

I was sitting on a park bench-watching squirrels at play
Thinking of my past life and the words yet to say

Can you find the magic in a heart out at sea
Will you dream a dream for me

Every drop of friendship is want and a need
Each tribute is but a blush to a seed

Rest me a moment on stone under a tree
Feel all the stars bending to touch me

Every drop a trickle from a creek to the bend
Every rock a ripple as the tree and creek are friends

Sustain a golden memory as the sky adds its fame
Raindrops come as tear when we meet again

Can you taste the wonder of life in its kettle true
Just a part of the black before the sky is turning blue

Fire consumes the magic of love as it grows
Passion turns to roses as the two of us grow old

I have been a lover a dreamer of better days
As the clouds clear just above the mountain haze

Sunshine is a mystic song with no refrain
Touch of magic rides the poet's name

Some hear me as I preach from valley deep
Most just smile as I put them to sleep

Can you touch the daydream hold like a ball of light
Can you make a child smile save them from the chill of night

Once I was writer of soft and lovely tales
Now I am just an old man ride the dreams of sails

Ships still pass in the night
Love it is a welcome angels in flight






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        05-22-2010     Susan Brown        

Walter,
I thought the stranger across the lawn, was writing for "only" me, years before I came to know him? Frank has gone and burst my bubble. I suppose... I'll have to learn to share (share and share alike) with the strolling restless.
Susan

        05-21-2010     Frank Fields        

Now, today, two years and some miles later, this work speaks as strongly now, if not more, as it did then.

Today, however, I may be more aligned with

"Once I was writer of soft and lovely tales
Now I am just an old man ride the dreams of sails"

than with the underlying passions of the rest.

You really should think about writing for others, besides myself, Walt. Or is your Universal Touch such that it strikes some chords in all who are fortunate enough to read your works? The latter, most like. ^^

Frank :)


        04-21-2008     Frank Fields        

"...Sunshine is a mystic song with no refrain
Touch of magic rides the poet's name...."

This one stanza, perhaps more than the rest, and maybe because of my own bent, seems to capture your ever-present, though sometimes hidden, gift at verse and other things as well, presenting the ever magical qualities your works inspire.

What more...?

Frank :)




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