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S R Mats Sep 2021
Some days sitting with my pad & pen,
I am feeling sad and blue.
But, then I remember the number two.
I realize that I am no fool.

I simply add to the end the number 2,
Then I am happy because it's so cool
To go on rhyming with this little tool.
And I can smile in the end,

With the number two as my friend.
S R Mats Feb 2022
In "a home", on hospice care at 85, I peek in on Mom:

Perhaps my mother was having a good dream.
Maybe she was on a horse or playing her piano
or running through her childhood pastures.

We have our dreams, which sustain us through life,
Even to the end. I couldn’t bring myself to **** her from them,
So I left her sleeping.

31,025 days of life come to a close.
2/16/2022 My mother died last night.
S R Mats Mar 2015
The world in a cup-
So eager am I to sup
That I bring two straws
could not decide if this was senryu
S R Mats Jan 2022
For miles the white path
My nose and feet are too cold
Silent crisp air fills spaces
S R Mats Feb 2022
A poem is a kind of theater in which the poet is the lyrical speaker,
Explained A. R. Ammons. - A waterfall, a rock, a man, the universe, a poem
Intimating a connection between a mind and nature.  An evocative act, action!
Shakespeare said that we are all actors strutting on a stage;
Heraclitus’ flux when standing in a stream contemplating is linked to time
And motion, unstoppable.  The motion of a universal place ruminated 
By a human knower, standing in a stream, seeking to align inner thoughts to 
The impersonal motions of our galaxy flinging wide its arms of spirals;
Contemplating that which exists outside our being.  

Yet, we too fling open wide arms and minds as we ride this planet
On its circuitous movement on that same ride in space and time
Throughout our ever-expanding universe, universes, deep into black space. 
We are leaving trails of ‘trippy-tracers’ through time, dissipating as slow
As Radioactive decay.  Particle physics, proton decay that is of
A hypothetical form of particle decay in which the proton decays
Into lighter subatomic particles, that is what we all are!
We are here in this present but rippling and ripping into a future
Just as surely as the great ice age glaciers dug and grooved

The earth on which we walk; we so slight, almost weightless beings
Mark it and take it into one’s self, one substance, one experience. 
In that moment time stands still within that rock, on this rock,
In this man’s hand.  Spinoza said a stone thrown through the air
Would think, if a stone could think, that it was the author of its own motion. 
We, like that stone, forget that we did not set our own motion.  Something 
Greater set the trajectory, not an exact path, but the movement of us!
The galaxy, this universe, the many universes, spin and move, and flow
Without being infinite.  And yet we are finite matter in motion.

Immeasurably, subject to no known limitations, duration unknowable,  
These things being outside of us and yet within us all!  We breathe the stars!
We embody the essence of all time, we recycle these precious particles! 
Plunk, the rock is dropped “to dead rest”!   Swept away with the energy.
Too much, too much motion, too much information, too much beyond a man
In danger of being taken away by the glacier, by the stream, by the spinning universe 
sinking down with that stone.  We carry within us the force which is going to undo us.
We become debris.  Entropy, a thermodynamic dictates a lack of order and yet . . .


Shelterless, with weary-bleary eyes we look up to view the heavens.
It angers me that the format is off when posting here the poem written and properly formatted.  Then the allowed space here makes a hash of it.  Please, copy and paste it into a document if you want to read it properly.
S R Mats May 2015
Walking alone day after day.  I am a regular.
The giraffes know.  The elephants remember.

The carousel and I go round and round, chasing;
Never catching anything or anyone.  You are gone.

The monkeys at the zoo could never be true to you,
They told me so.  I felt quite sad about it.
Ah, the mysteries of poetry, not always knowing where the fruitage came from.
S R Mats Jul 14
A bed should be free of smells,
Stinky tails, and most important, liars!

A bed must be free of crumbs, bums,
And by all means bugs!

When climbing on board
Ask: How far can I go in this thing?

Can I wrap and roll in coolness?
Will it hold up in "rough seas"?

A bed should be a safety haven,
A garden of delight in which to. . .

Get the needed rest that one desires.
S R Mats Jun 2021
The infinite sound of poetry
So infant-ly a part of my brain;

I lie down to read one of the multitudes of books
Collected over the years.

They will not tell me how to write or what to write.
But perhaps they will help me recover

That part of the old grey cells which always thought TV
To be the scourge of it.
S R Mats Jun 2022
A chance encounter.

So precious and fleeting is this brush of one life against another
that we may never realize the impact it has on our life or theirs.  

The impression is, nonetheless, left.
A chance encounter,

How fulfilling it can be when it is brought full circle.
S R Mats May 2015
O pleasure, a deep well of nectar your creamy throat
Fluted like a golden trumpet toy.

Your luscious nuggets of yellow dust our hurried feet,
As we become sweetly knee deep.

We buzz a vibrato hum. Carefully, make we our love notes
With each wing beat of gathering joy.

Your graceful tendrils entwined our tiny hearts with gifts.
Complete in our mission with bounty we lift

And homeward sing your praise.
S R Mats Oct 8
At times I catch glimpses of my own mortality.
The fact that although I am present in this moment
I will be gone and become the past.  A memory.
At least one could, would, should hope for that.

Family, those present and gone are always, in effect, present
With me.  My ancestors live large in my life because I choose
To remember their existence, that they acted, were once here.
And thus, it is I who, now, hope to remain, if only in this way.

Yes, it's a surreal way to live.  Past and present meld into future.
And one never knows who it is that will make the choice
To recall, call the name, think upon some act once engaged in.
Yet, we all live side by side in a continuum of time.
S R Mats Jun 20
Rare and unusual even among the ill,
Neurosis and psychosis wrap around him
Like a warm, protective blanket.

Thwack! upside the head, "Hello!"
Reality is calling on deaf ears.
The knock never loosens nor
dislodged the blockage in them. He is
Building his life, if only in his own mind,
Second by second, wake to sleep, day after day;
Serving to preserve this foggy unreal thinking.

A magical sort of twilight within continually twinkles.
And a crafty, but ill and calculating brain remains
Though truth slaps him in the face, again and again,
Even as he lives in his own cocooned mind.
The reality within the reality which he continues to create
Is so much work on the part of his many lifetime enablers
But it is all too little effort by him for anything but himself.
S R Mats Nov 2
I grew and it made more room for me
But it also made more room for you.

Did you actually think you found love
After me? You left for her, after all.

If I could I would tell you what I know:
Love expands, it lifts up, it wants the best,

It guides our paths through darkness.
Love illuminates the way as it opens up.

It does not implode after you have died.
True love never dies no matter how one tried.
S R Mats Mar 30
She lay there writhing
Having used her last few seconds
Of life in sacrifice.

She did not stop the honey-rob.
She did not protect the offspring.
Only fleeting thoughts had slowed

The thief briefly after the sharp sting;
That sting with so few consequences for a thief.
For the strong or the stupid brush pain away.

Then pretend.
The poem reflects the loss of innocence.  Perhaps, it is the **** or molestation of females which has taken place almost since humankind began.  Perhaps it is only the interactions of a thief and an insect.  You decide.
S R Mats Jan 8
The sun is out and birds begin to sing;
"Lovely" is written on the clouds that remain.
A battle of sorts breaks out between 2 mockingbirds;
You'd think that it wasn't dead of winter
But had turned to spring.
S R Mats Mar 2015
At the edge of faltering light I meet the eyes that see
      me as only Beauty.

The lonely pines and the sandy soil are warmed by
      the heat of a day now gone.  

Come in now, Honey, sit with me.  
      We are the Youth of dreams.
(for Mother and Pop Carl) - their love and marriage of  nearly 40 years has been amazing to see
S R Mats Nov 22
The scent of new snow
Hints of other worlds
*not traditional haiku
It is the little things that get broken
China, a glass, toys,

A heart.

It is the little things that get lost
A button, your car keys,

A heart.

It is the little things which bring joy
Touching your hand, you touching me,

Love from the heart.

It is the little things which remain unspoken
I love you more than life itself.
S R Mats Jul 14
There's a hard wind blowing from the north;
And the wintertime has become so harsh.
Yet, I'll not worry, not for long, because
Long before the summertime comes again
I'll be gone.

For there's silver in my wings so strong.
If I spread them wide they’ll turn to iron;
And I will fly up to the sky and across the sea.
For there's alchemy for this silver in my wings.
Yes, I'll soon be gone.
I hear this in my head as an old Scot's ballad.
S R Mats Dec 2022
The past is a foreign country.
They do things differently there.

Those things are there,
We are here.

We do things differently
Presently, see.
S R Mats Apr 2022
Some are waxing, some are waning;
Yet, throughout the seasons all are remaining.
As their little bulbed feet continue standing!

Beautiful bonnets in colors bright -
Salmon-pink, red, and candy-striped!
Each year, still, I see them as quite a sight.

Amaryllis brings my heart such delight!
S R Mats May 16
We are like a car the owner can scarcely afford to keep.
America is a loud muffler sputtering,
Wired-up that was cheaply maintained.
Problem is there's a gaping big hole in it.
No patch can fix it.  
Yet, we sputter on.
S R Mats Dec 2021
Give ear, and I will speak, my love.
Hear the words of my mouth, my love.
Let my words trickle as the dew.

Let them refresh and renew, my love,
As gentle rain upon the grass
And copious showers which come at last,

My love is like that.
S R Mats May 2022
My brain pirouettes in realistic shadows;
The sunniest of days have passed;
Here am I in a broken body trapped.
Filled with counts, movements, of time tapping
Until it is only me and the dance;
Out of the shadow and into the bright lights.
S R Mats Apr 14
"Tell me I am beautiful;
I feel the weight of every line,
crease, and wrinkle, just now.

Laying here in your arms
I could believe anything!"

She said.  Silence . . .her heart broke.
Suddenly a soft purring, snoring rose!
She snuggled and they both slept.
S R Mats Sep 17
Should an army of emotions
Set up a camp against me
My heart will not fear
Though war break out against me
Even then, I will not fear
My confidence is a stronghold
When you are near.
S R Mats May 3
Blindingly bright lights pin-point;
And then you touch.

Experiencing love for the 1st time;
Throbbing heart constricting.
A lump in the throat
Caught in a dry strangle, one gasp,
Lightheaded.  Breathe!  
Thick, dense air.
Full sensory at capacity;

And you touch, again.
Then we fall and fall and fall.
S R Mats Jan 17
I'll start with this example of the titles of some of my own poems published here.

(One of 2 new possible titles for the new creation, but neither title from a poem already written.)
What It Becomes / What I Become

Sheltered in A Desert
Moths Like Stars
After The Storm

It Had To Be Said
I am Like a Strong Tree
The Halo of Day

Exercise 2:
Sheltered in A Desert
there were Moths Like Stars
across the sky After The Storm.

It Had To Be Said, afterward,
I am Like a Strong Tree,
like The Halo of Day.
* This exercise should help clear out the cobwebs and reignite creativity.
S R Mats Sep 2022
When I see you again

I'll choke back the years . . .

of fears
of tears
of needing
of wanting
of not having
of not knowing

And you will explain
What actually happened.
S R Mats Jun 2015
An old and frustrated flower-child asks,
"Where did the love go?"
Peace, love, dope . . .

Why just yesterday, it seems
We were romping through beautiful fields
And reading such lovely poetry.

Where did the love go?  I am asking.
love one another
S R Mats Sep 2021
I know it is the natural progression of things.  Certain plants only live for a season then die.  Others wither and retreat into a cover of soil until next year.  Some hold on as long as possible only succumbing to a hard freeze.  Although I hate the heat of summer I love the life it brings to the Balcony Garden which is waning already.
S R Mats Sep 2021
One thing alone could end my love,
When Time has stopped my Heart,

Though you have left me, here alone
To stumble in the dark.

Then, I heard the Raven say,
"Nevermore!" today.
S R Mats Nov 8
On the dry and empty ground
Covered in stubble brittle and bleached
Nothing exciting could have ever happened
In this barren place.
Yet, there, beneath them lay clues all around
Pointing to the ancient just within reach,
By an inquiring mind who goes out to seek.
They were men of that sort on bended knee.
The wastes between the Dead Sea
And beyond the Gulf of Aqaba pleaded,
"I am lost, come find me."
So, they unpacked their shovels, brushes & trowels,
At the foot of sandstone cliffs and started to dig.
Together with the Bedouins, the group slept on
A ground covered in their robes.  Strewn about lay
Piles of black ****, byproduct of copper smelting
Beckoning.  So, they ate the unleavened bread,
Just as did the freed Israelites who were fleeing Egypt. 
But then, of course.  Nothing ever happened here.
S R Mats Sep 29
This chapter is now closed.
Relegated to the last vestiges,
Foggy scenes through time's mist.
Memories can become happier,

Now faded and worn.
Time's safe place, fuzzy and warm
Is like a sweater that you only pull out
For a season then pack away until next time.
S R Mats Mar 2015
I stare into supple beauty,
Shudder Sweet Man
And worship Luscious Woman.
Hard feather, smooth pleasure,
Arouse heavy morning,
Tremble breast and glisten full bloom.
S R Mats Jan 30
I took your DNA in;
It lay around my place.
I wondered, "Will I breathe it in?"
Will part of you become part of me?
I longed for that permanence.
S R Mats Mar 2022
He was 3; issued a blanket,
It too was part of the property.
As I move into this thought
Africa becomes a coast.
I do not know it. Sandy or rock?
My mind moves into the forest,
My heart, into a village.
A toddler clings to the robe covering
The dark skin of her mother.
“Africa” the word is read,
“Place of birth: Africa”.
S R Mats Nov 2022
A simple concrete step, a stoop; it is just a step, a stoop
Until it is associated with memories of sitting, watching,
                             and waiting.

Watching life as it parades past; neighbors, strangers, cars,
things that are blown about.

All become associated with that well-worn act, repeated with
                           religious devotion,

Of spending time on a simple neighborhood stoop.
S R Mats Dec 2020
The dairy devil
Has cold hands
Pray it grabs your throat
think about it
S R Mats Aug 2022
Across the street
The heliotrope and roses meet.
Entwined they gather sweetly
Lovingly clinging in embrace.
Sigh.  I watch them.  I slow my pace.
If flowers can love as in this case,
Why cannot men of every race?
S R Mats Oct 15
Different moments throughout our lives,
The passing of time, who we are changing
Throughout the years, evolving, letting go 
Are not unlike the participating self-evolvement
Over the course of living. Yet, disease takes away
These basic anchors of reality, time, and place,
And all the coordinates that we rely on
In every moment of our lives are suddenly lost.
S R Mats Mar 2015
I will look upon your face
And I will love it, Sweet Gentle.
I will love it, soft and tender,
Wrinkle by wrinkle.
S R Mats Feb 2022
We never know where to draw the line.  Do we?
Nor do we know when to expunge the mark.

And, when do we stick a foot into that closing opened door
Or withdraw it to allow its closing?

I say that lines are actually made of dots and dashes.  
Make your mark boldly, underline the stroke.

Grab the handle of the door
And pull it open with all of your might!
S R Mats Jul 2021
I can smell the rain coming
As the Texas heat and humidity
That had me held like plastic wrap
Around my face and body loosens;
And the cooler air sinks down to fold us.
I can breathe, feel exhilarated, want life!
Then the downburst!  Like a cow relieving itself
On a flat rock, large drops scatter, loudly, until
The tin on the roof tinkles a melodious song.
In a Texas summer, we live for days like these.
S R Mats Jul 28
If a thought is as good as a prayer

Then I pray for you often
Throughout the day.

You are in my heart and mind
In so many ways.

If a thought is as good as a prayer
Then you should be very blessed.

Thoughts of you, dear friend,
Ascend from me to the heavens, themselves.

Thoughts are as good as a prayer, aren't they?
Should I leave off that last line?
S R Mats May 2015
Crow at my window
Cawing, calling:
Come into the richness
Of the forest.

His call is tempting.
S R Mats Aug 21
Somewhere, I may never have traveled,
Haunts my memory in foggy dreams

I smell the fire in the fireplace burning
I see the cabin door swinging

Outside the snow that had fallen
Lies melting, hardening to ice

Mountain air fills my lungs and exhilarates
With the smell of pine and of juniper and cedar

A distant crow's caw brings me back to reality
And I am suddenly in the snow at the door of a cabin

Somewhere I may never have traveled to
S R Mats Oct 2020
Water, the same color as the sky,
Completely filled the pools of light.

The rays of Sun are want to try
And push to break through the bright.

Yet, languidly our time we bide
Until the pools are full of night.
S R Mats Apr 25
Um, me-me-me-me
Take that face off
Put it in the drawer
Tucker, you ain't gonna
Need it no more
They done booted you ****
Out the door,
S R Mats Sep 2021
Into mellow fields, all manner of beings go.
The bird to gather bug or seed,
The workers with their hoes;
And, maidens who gather stands of wheat
In dresses that are blown.
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