Music Silent Tears and Roses
Performed by: Herb Alpert

Page updated: May 20,2006

From my hand and heart... share some thoughts with you.

Writing a poem, -
Too easy -
And too hard.
Too easy to compose some words.
Too difficult to expose my soul
So easily.

From life's
Messy mixture,
Poetry rises
To the top
Or settles to the bottom:
Highest aspirations,
Lowest tribulations,
Expressed into mere words,
And captured on a page.

No poet
Is ever


The heart pours forth words,
When itself begs release.
'Tis good to express
Its needs;
But too incredible for words,
That clamouring needs
Concede to be contained
By quiet words.
Ah! There is probably a word
For that, too.

I panic,
Fearing I have said too much.
My silent thoughts
And seem to
SHOUT it out!

BEING Is A Noun and Verb

Not I!
I catalyze - I prophesy -
I speak - I write -
I laugh - I cry.
I try
To light a little fire;
Excite, suggest, delight, inquire,
Inspire a flame
With sparks of life
To salve the pain,
To solve the strife...
To be a BEING, being!

Poets are people
Who translate
Staggering experience
Into staggered lines of words,
In hopes of
Capturing, there,
The twist of the heart,
The surge of the mind,
The excruciating ache
Of unfilled needs.
Others, also needing -
Just endure twists and aches -
And surges, too, -
Silently, within.
Perhaps sometimes they may read
The staggered lines,
And find release
Through their eyes.

Precedes its happenings,
Or else, it follows.
Needs no written poetry, to be, -
Unless the words are all there is.
I think there's more.
I think that walks
Along the country-side with love
I think the seagulls
And the roses know.
I think, perhaps,
That, sometimes,
Even I have known.

I know not how
To edit my soul,
Nor why I should.
So, I hope you like me

with more of my own poetry.

1970-2006 - Created & copyrighted by Nellieanna H. Hay