Seasons of Love

He did not come cloaked in fresh spring lover's lust

Nor in a summer sky-lit shower of lunar stardust.

And with autumn's pallet of bronze radiant rust,

He painted purity with a winter's wet, white brush.

I found kindness there beneath the rousing rush

Of seasons falling, pouring pure down upon us.

Oh, clean washed heart, how sweet the muse

That teases thoughts and love reproves.

You are all seasons, my reasoned rhyme,

Cherished with tenderness throughout our time.

And through each season of smitten shy smiles,

I pray one more day of my desperate denial.   

-P.S. Colley

 Dec. 2024 

Cave Graffiti

Cave man didn't know what he was doing

As his hand sculpted frantic on wet wall,

Stopped, stepped back to view his stone-crafted vision,

Then proceeded through some shallow shadowed hall.

How ironic that a dark dank ancient museum

Should impart art that in earnest is least.

How ironic that the boorish, unknown artist

Should be man with hand and mind of brutish beast.

Cave man didn't know what he was doing

As he labored to a dazzling drafty flame,

Then darted to display for few friendly others

To preview, then proclaim by clan acclaim.

How ironic that a dark dank ancient museum

Should be understood by mere meager men as these.

How ironic to learn literacy's lost, first artist

Should be man that can neither write nor read.

And what future race may find Picasso dangling,

Suspended on some dreary dying wall,

Only to study for years yet never quite reveal

The intended significance of it all?

~ P.S. Colley

      Fall 1974

B.B. to the Next Generation

Gen X, Gen Y, and even Gen Z,

Please stop blaming your life on poor B.B.

We didn't invent hate.

We didn't invent war.

Actually, we believed first what you're fighting for.

For peace in a clean world

for us and our kin.

For unity, for harmony,

among all righteous men.

But especially for those

         who bear burdens of woe

To heal sweeter friends,

and forgive bitter foes.

For the enemy one fights is born

and lives deep within,

Falsely blames all others, 

as Mother Earth's nurture spins.

So, hear my advice,

Stand humbly in the rain.

Let disappointment wash away,

And from blame, please refrain.

P.S. Colley

August 2024