Brown Paper Bag

How old are you?

How old are we,

Who knows,

As old as time

Itself,

As young as

Tomorrow

Or the start of

A snap of the finger,

No really,

How old are you?

I gave him a number

And he left seemingly

Satisfied,

Sometimes we need a

Label for our illusions,

So we can put them in

A little brown paper bag

And keep on collecting.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “Dockside” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

5:59 AM October 31, 2014

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A Crazy Morning

A crazy morning,

Crazy in the sense

That some things

Make no sense,

Calm after the

Tail end of Ana,

Nerve racking watching

A thirteen year old

Testing her wings,

Helpless speaking with

A terminally ill friend

Grasping at straws and things,

Not sure if he will

Make Christmas,

Wondering out loud

If hash oil could be

His magic potion,

And I, a hippy sort

With no knowledge of drugs

Except for that tune,

Love Potion Number Nine.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “Dockside” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

9:48 AM October 29, 2014

On Sunday Morning

On Sunday morning,

You know that time

Just before waking,

Replaying bits of dreams

From the night

That’s quickly leaving,

Bumping into thoughts

From time that’s passed,

From time that’s yet

To be,

On Sunday morning

Just before waking,

You arrived in

Naked splendor,

The goddess of

Sleeping in,

Keeping me from waking.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “Dockside” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

7:37 AM October 26, 2014

The Architect

 

You are the architect

Of your life,

Your attitude,

Your character,

The qualities that

Define who and what

You are,

You spend all

Of your time

With you,

You are the architect,

You can point

At others, at events,

At circumstances

And say that is why

Who and what I am,

But that is your illusion,

Your excuse,

You are the architect

Of your life.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

From “Dockside” www.StrangersAndPoetry.com

6:05 AM October 25, 2014