Friends
I saw an old man the other night
Who just didn't seem right,
So weary and beaten
Not mean nor bad,
Just looked like he'd had
All any man could stand.
Rough and rugged
Yet worn and gentle,
Like a person who'd truly care
And perhaps be even a bit sentimental.
When he looked up
From where he had fallen,
I saw a tear in his eye
And even a little fear upon his face,
A worried soul with a troubled mind-
Too many burdens, not enough time-
So many forgotten dreams, lost in ungrace.
I gazed upon this moment to see...
What looks alot like me.
The way we look, the way we view,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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An Old-Country Drive
On a cloudy gray
Late fall day,
I spontaneously decide
To take an old-country drive...
Trees without leaves
Line the roadside,
Dark and shadowy
Like rigid statues that see nothing nearby.
Paintless wood frame houses archaic stand
Scattered here to there,
Relics of a long past day
Lost to something, somewhere.
Like abandoned old friends of former lives
Along the way they lie,
Quietly calling out
To each passer-by.
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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Dreams Out of the Blue
Blue acedia creates a deep longing
a longing to see, a longing to be,
In a completely different light
as distinct as day from night,
as blue from black,
a way to perceive life's dreams
that has no need to ever gaze back.
The purest view
only found in 'all things made new'.
DREAM.
I stand alone in the vast wide open
Underneath the most beautific blue sky.......
At a crossroad of dirt lane and iron track
Keenly I watch as a slow moving train creeps by,
I on the warm earth trail
It on a cold steel rail,
I with vision to view all that is alive
It with a single blind iron eye,
I at liberty to move anywhere about,
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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On the Way.
(- what follows is a true story. more a story than a poem. yet, one I have so wanted for so long to tell... -)
On the way
Southbound far into Texas.
It's a long stretch of asphalt,
When the night is late, and so dark
Out on highway 277, moving
From Sonora to Del Rio... and points further south.
Not another soul about,
Just me, my old truck, and the stars.
It's quiet
- and lonely -
Headed down old Mexico way...
Pass a car sitting on the side
- broke down I'm sure -
A coyote with fear and hunger in its eyes
Runs across the road, right in front of me.
Then, a mile or so up, I see him, walking,
Gas can in hand.
I stop, open the door and holler:
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poem by Smoky Hoss
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