No words, no words, only tears
The words in my heart are drowning in tears.
The love of my life is no longer near.
No words, no words, only tears.

No words, no words, only tears
No longer his voice whispered as we draw near.
No longer his strength to cast out all fears.
No words, no words, only tears.

No words, no words, only tears.
This parting cannot sever love built through years.
In my heart our love is indelibly seared.
No words, no words, only tears.

Some poets write heady and beautiful prose.
Others rhyme only and why, no one knows.
Perhaps there is something wrong in the head.
Let's peek at this one asleep in her bed.

Lift up her hair; look under her hood.
Everything there looks just as it should.
But wait!  Over there, see that wrinkle so fine?
With pen put to paper, it comes out as rhyme!

There must be a default to fix this strange thing.
But how to begin it - with scissors or string?
The brain doesn't like it when shaken about.
You must take care nothing good will fall out.

A '37 model, it says here inside.
They built them to last back then with such pride,
I doubt we ever could find a spare part.
How would we even know where to start?

Perhaps now's the time we rethink this whole thing.
What makes her rhymes special makes this one's heart sing.
Let's close down her top and leave this one alone,
She's doing no harm as she has well shown.

Perhaps we should let her poetry grow.
It may, in fact, help others to know
That each of us are not made the same.
And that includes all who share the same name.

She knows our uniqueness sets us apart.
We all have our secrets sewn deep in our hearts.
And if we think sameness is what all should be,
Imagine how dull and boring we'd be!

She'd say stick to being  just who you are,
Build on your strengths and follow your star.
Write what you wish and say what you will,
But do it with kindness each goal to fulfill.

She'd say we should use all the gifts we have honed,
Look back and see all the wisdom we've sown.
Yes, I say we let this one be..
Close her up now, and set her rhymes free!

Only the blind see clearly
What sighted folks fail to see:
That color of skin does not define
Who the person there may be.

Hold out your hand in darkness
As you stumble and start to fall.
A hand reaches out to help you.
Does its color matter at all?

Only the blind may teach us
About what is best to feel:
Color is only a pigment;
But the person inside is real.

Only the blind may lead us
As we go along hand in hand.
We learn from the wise unseeing;
They know us all as just man.


(C) K. Hicks

"**** that cat!", I heard my mother say.
"He's gone and made a mess of it, the same as yesterday!"
He really is quite clever, this cat of black and white.
I'm pretty sure he hurries down while we're asleep each night.

His eyes are made to see things clearly in the dark.
He seems to know just where to find her very favorite part.
She's working on a puzzle two thousand pieces long.
He'd like for it to never end, to string her on and on.

He sees this as a game for two, and his moves come at night.
For her the game will never end, and this becomes her plight!
He doesn't know I'm sitting here high upon the stair.
I'm seeing how he scatters her pieces everywhere.

It's sure to make Mom angry, though she loves him through and through.
But she would surely like him to find something else to do!

I shall not choke on Mr. Trump's words.
As, for me, they are too hard to swallow.
So I lend my voice to the growing chorus:
"This is no man I can follow."

I accept that he won but we have all lost,
With a tally that grows day by day.
But how shall we score at the end of the term?
And what will our folly have cost?

(C) K. Hicks, 2017

He sat down beside me, this tired old man.
I'll tell you his story the best that I can.
He called me his "angel" as he hung down his head.
His soft voice whispered, "Wake me up when I'm dead.

It's your time to take me and my time to go.
I've been here ready a long time, you know.
Years now alone as I lay in my bed.
Take me, please take; I've nothing to dread.

There are many dear memories that play in my head.
Too long without them with words gone unsaid.
Years now alone as I lay in my bed,
So please take me now and wake me when dead.

I can see things so clearly as I start my flight,
And as I pass through that shining bright light.
When all the life in me has taken its flight,
Please wake me up when I'm dead.

First shake me gently and wipe away tears;
No more worries and absent all fears.
I want to tend roses in what lies ahead;
I trust you now angel, wake me when dead.

Yes, wake me up gently; don't let me sleep!
The baggage I've carried is heavy and deep.
I don't expect halos to circle my head,
But, please, don't forget to wake me when dead.

Let me see kindness in every new face;
I'd like to feel welcome in my new space
Surround me with all of the dear ones I've missed.
Have them all greet me with hugs and a kiss.

Blot out the memories too hurtful to bare.
Wipe my slate clean as I take in new air.
I'm so very anxious to see what lies ahead.
Please now, I beg you, wake me when dead."

I sat there beside him as he seemed to sleep -
No one to hold him, no one to weep.
"I will be with you," I said, "to the end.
"I am no angel, but you are my friend."

Just moments later, he reached out his hand;
Someone had met him and taken his hand.
And as a sweet smile appeared on his face,
I knew he was happy now in his new place.

(C) K. Hicks

'Don't pick up the gun, son.
Don't pick up the gun.
'cause if you ever use it,
You'll be a man on the run.'

Those were Papa's words then
When I was just a boy.
My eyes looked trigger happy.
My young heart beat with joy.

But he knew then, as I know now -
Real guns are not a toy.
And he had one strong mission:
To save his only boy.

Yes, he knew well the danger,
And he knew of the pain.
So he would always stay on point
As he spoke his old refrain.

'Don't pick up the gun, son.
Don't pick up the gun.
Live life to the fullest and
Don't pick up the gun!'

(C) K. Hicks