The Everyman Poet
A Walk through My LifeBy Jeffrey M. RussoiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Jeffrey M. Russo
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-3582-2 Chapter One
My Wish to Dream
I want to walk further Than anyone and gain a Level of wisdom from Every step I take.
I want to write a story That someday everyone might read And paint an exceptional picture For all the world to see.
I want to laugh with my Friends and talk all night Until we notice the dawn's Early rise.
I want to sing aloud A wonderful song and Dance with her under The moonlight.
I want to grow from The earth a delicious Fruit and watch the Beautiful flowers bloom.
I want to fall in love With the woman of my Dreams and reach out For the stars above.
Her Kiss
Her eyes are a Piercing shade Of green, Accentuated by The tints of Brown and gold With the slightest Slivers of silver Shining through They're amazing.
Her kiss is Passionate And has the Heat of a fire From the fury Of being so bold, The electricity Runs through our Lips like lightning It's beguiling.
Rain
It's raining outside When the sounds awaken me From a deep sleep.
I so love the clatter Of raindrops as they pelt Against the rooftop and windows.
It's a good day to catch up On some much needed rest Or even a good book.
The rain makes such Wonderful music When you listen.
It's replenishing the dry earth And giving nature life with each Passing drop that falls.
It's suddenly thundering As I lay in my bed Warm beneath the blankets.
The flashes of lightning In the distance are a Wonderful display for the senses.
It's raining outside As I turn over and fall back To sleep for some much needed rest.
Perfection
Upon your travels in life, if you have never witnessed Perfection in any of its myriad forms, even if only By accident, I can tell you this, you have not been looking.
Let me tell you of my acquaintance with perfection, She is a friend of mine with the most mesmerizing Blue eyes I have ever encountered, eyes that I Truly believe could see directly into ones soul.
If you were to just pass a fleeting glance toward Her eyes, you might say they're beautiful or Question their veracity, but I would tell you Regretfully that you missed their entirety.
I have had the great opportunity to gaze into The endless blue, which brings me an unfettered joy, You could actually hear them speak, if you were Willing to listen and look carefully enough, They would tell you a great many things of life And love to surprise you with their depth of insight From one so young.
There's an abundance of words that I could use To best describe her exquisite eyes, like the shaded perfection of a sapphire or maybe even A moment in time such as the crisp morning Skies of early September.
I could tell you that the comparisons are much Closer to the reality of her eyes now, but They would still pale in my own.
As I have stated from the beginning, I myself Have seen perfection at least once in my life, That will always make me smile when I think Of her and the graceful power within her eyes.
My Writing
How do you write a book, or a short story? Or even a poem, I guess it's by putting pen To paper and giving it a try.
My poems come to me while I sleep I then wake and begin to write, No matter the time of day or night.
My emotions are raw as I think through Each story, I worry if I'll ever finish the Next verse before the words in my mind fail me.
I wonder if anyone will read this And truly like it or just in saying so, Attempting not to hurt my feelings.
My writing brings me purpose and peace of mind As I fit together words and see if they flow, Leaving my thoughts open to the stories I still wish to tell.
Mostly all come from memories of things I've seen, Places I've gone or even some of the people I've Known, some are purely fictional though and Harder to create.
I have a strong desire to become a writer I think someday I might be, but maybe I already am, we'll see.
How do you write a book, or a short story? Or even a poem, I guess it's by putting pen To paper and giving it a try.
The Cherry Trees by the River
The early morning sky Is all but pink above me As I walk under the Blossoming cherry trees.
I savor the sweet aroma From the beautifully scented bulbs While I wonder along The well worn path below.
The sound of the river Becomes a soothing music When it crackles over The rocks that line the shore.
I watch the small waterfall Merge with the running stream, Then the wind bristles across the trees And their petals flutter down over me.
I'm overwhelmed by natures' sight And think to myself, how many Must have passed through here Admiring this view, just as I do now.
The Blackbirds
As I gazed out from my window, I saw the blackbirds sitting atop the Dormant trees like living leafs about To spring to life on this cold, dusky, gray winter night.
It's freezing cold outside, But you couldn't tell by looking at them. Thousands of birds sitting perched Upon the branches waiting like wraiths In the night sky.
When they became restless they seemed To speak in unison and took to flight All at once, hundreds of them stretching out Their wing spans and darkening out The moonlight in the night sky above me.
Ominous looking and just as suddenly They would land again on all of the Branches high atop the trees with All becoming quiet, not even the Ruffle of a feather.
Waiting on something? Some natural insight? I wonder what? Is there a storm coming?
Goodbye
My emotions begin to crack While tears bound to fall From my eyes as I say Goodbye to her for a Long winter apart.
My eyelids do their best To hold the tears at bay As my heart slowly empties Of my reasons for joy And happiness.
I so hate to watch her leave Without being able to do Anything to stop it, I know that I'll see you Again one day but the wait Feels like an eternity.
I finally begin to cry And as the tear rolls Down my face, I feel It's warmth against My cheek.
Flowing freely now I feel like an infant With your departure, All I can say is farewell I'll wait for your return.
Fireworks
Not a flicker of starlight This evening as I sit at The beach, tucking my feet Into the cool sand beneath.
I can hear the tide Cresting against the Shore and a crowd Of people anxious With excitement.
With a sudden thump Of a cannon, I see The fluorescent colored Fireworks explode overhead, Lighting up the murky night sky.
The sounds reverberate Through my body and My senses are filled With glee.
Tendrils of color Brighten the night While the smoke drifts Throughout the air.
As the crowd roars its Approval with cheer, I can feel that the Immutable pride of Patriotism is here.
The Old Amusement Park
I snuck past the warning fence And took one last walk around the Old amusement park before it was Torn down.
We all had so much fun here When we were young, feasting Our senses upon the bright lights, Loud music and delicious cotton candy.
The roller coaster was now badly worn And I saw trees beginning to grow Through its wooden beams, and Wrought iron rails riddled by age.
Weeds have now over taken the Once prominent boardwalk and A bench I carved my initials Into had also crumpled in decay.
I can still remember how pretty It use to be, like it was only Yesterday, as we would laugh Amidst our hearty doses of fright.
The sheer exhilaration that was Once so wonderful is now only Disregarded, and brings forth A sadness in me.
The Purple Flower
I find myself towering above the earth As I scale the mountain before me. Its sheer rock face is almost all that I see As I continue to climb hand after hand, Feeling the grit grind into my fingers.
I rebuckle myself every few feet, Making sure that my ropes are taut. For that's when I see it, from out Of a deep fissure in the rock wall Grows a most beautiful purple flower.
Then I find a foothold to rest upon For a moment, while my mind starts To wonder about this delicate little Flower and how it survives here, Maybe I should pick it and Carry it to the top with me.
No ... this is where it was Intended to be, I shall leave it For another climber to see. Nature surely is the will of God, Life no matter how hard, will Always find a way to strive. Goodbye little flower, I must continue towards the peak.
The Young Artist
A colorful explosion bursts onto the canvas before me, So I stop to watch the young artist work. She performs her magic upon the senses, As the colors flow freely and The fumes waft through the air. The picture spills effortlessly from out Of her mind, to enter the world of our sight.
While using the palette that surrounds her, She creates for us an exquisite design, A mosaic masterpiece from such simple tools. I'm awed by her skill and passion, So I revel in watching her work.
The paint flies from her fingertips As easily as stories form in my mind. We are both artists in our own right, Striving for elusive perfection.
She's a charming young performance artist, Working her master hand within a traveling State fair and soaking in the influence from Hundreds of onlookers as they watch her paint.
I'm envious of her talents, For I'm introverted and watch from afar. I sit quietly alone to memorize every detail That I'll later write, already choosing The words to use for my own canvas.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Everyman Poetby Jeffrey M. Russo Copyright © 2010 by Jeffrey M. Russo. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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