War
The bomb is oblong the men explode
In scrimmages of fury since time untold
Men of might, running, hitting, hurting
Each in his way a banner upholding
For each can win in freedom’s fold
To quit to stop short of gaining all
Is just the beginning the start of the fall.
But the fall is sly, it can wait.
Stupidity at home, its running mate
While men are dying giving their all.
War is hell t’was said by one
But half losing should be wanted by none.
Victory complete, the American way
Peace can be late until they are at bay
We must be first on top all the way.
Bars
Cold gray dead walls
Holding in a dead life
Dead as the small X
Of each passing day.
The room holds two lives
A lone rose, a lone man
Who are to live together
With death all around.
A window, a picture of ‘live world’
A mountain with the spring’s green
A tree with life’s first bud
A squirrel running free
Telling of a happy freedom
With life all around.
Is It Better?
Is it better to run hard
Through the paths of life?
Is it better to knock down
All and everyone
Who stands in that path
Standing by choice or chance.
Or is it better to run carefully
To look for each friend
And in no way harm him
Even if it means your score?
Is it better to stop – Out!
Just to keep from harm a friend?
Is it better to live to help and never hurt?
Is it better to think not of oneself – I wonder.
Discharge
Forever dark leaving the world
False light, returning by dreams.
Hoping, surviving, a non-existence,
Forgetting the old, planning anew
Revisiting the past, to again be free.
Freezing the mind without a thought
With hopes of blind acceptance
Trying five fold repeatedly failing
To snuff the innate undying glow
Revisiting the past, to again be free.
Failing to conquer tasting defeat
Destroyed by the candles omniglow
Hopes of love with home and life.
Fearing failure, not knowing success
Remolding the past, to again be free.
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Hill
A cluster of lights so far down hill
Grouped as if afraid of the night.
And yet between here and the mill
Are sprinkled the lone brave farm lights.
Away from the harsh din of the city.
Quiet, peaceful, broken only by the grog
Praising, for the soft shower our Almighty,
Who put at my feet a mossy log.
Moving gently, whispering softly above me
Still green amid a patch-quilt of hues
Sway a mighty wise old oak tree,
Keeping me safe from the falling dew.
Around me trees nodding, swaying, sleeping
Softly a quiet, lonely quiet is creeping
Touching everything and swiftly moving on
Taking with it all sound and motion.
Chilled by the passing cool breeze,
I feel a hand my arm gently squeeze.
Her eyes mirror the beauty I see
As she moves closer, still closer to me.
Along, together, we live the hour
Of the gift of soft breeze and shower.
Two hands, two hears, forever together
As the far bells call us to gather.
Flying Freely
Flying freely in the dark sky
Now caught like a puff of cotton
In a tree high in the heavens
Casting a shadow on all below
The midnight cloud stops, moves on.
The shadow moving stealthily, swiftly
Misses nothing as it covers the ground.
Across her face it gently glides
As if it were trying to hide
The picture of which I am fond.
Gently it covers, uncovers, moves on
Leaving behind the nightly peace and beauty.
The stars and moon once more show
On my arm a lovely face
Smiling now making everything right.
Falling
Slowly, softly falling, fluffy flakes
Cover the track my foot makes.
From the dark unknown night
Falling pure and clean and white.
With the natural beauty of each flake
My heart knows the path I take.
The past is covered, the future white
Filling her soft brown eyes with her delight.
White blanket falling all around
Now to cover two, not one.
White snow on dark hair
Nothing so beautiful so fair
Falling, softly falling ever true
The snow and my heart for you.
—Les Bakke
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