I do not want to say anything that isn't true At least, that is, from my deepest point of view I have lived my life in its living, and as a writer, Often seeking to find life a little brighter
The first admission is that I have made mistakes In seeking good, I often embraced my heartbreaks Though I gloss it over through the traveled miles There was a lot of horror and pain between the smiles
The mystery and miracle of language told it all With the best moments spent from springtime to the Fall It has sometimes been a hasty judgment of time spent Though looking back, I'm mostly happy with how it went
I don't have the burden of being thought eminent Almost nothing, if anything written, will ever be important But still, I acknowledge a desire to be mature and wise While knowing it's a childlike heart, seeing behind my eyes
With my own ears, I have found my words to be inadequate Regarding important things for which I could not compensate However hard it was that I searched for words to elevate The discussions had less than desired as I would navigate
The deeper moments mostly lived inside my enfeebled mind Somewhere in the journey of a thousand hotels left behind As I wandered the roads taken, repudiating all the things dead That keep wandering the vacant hallways. left to explore and find
Binding me to all the clever things I didn't manage to say Instead, barking into the night like a mad dog in a bad way In the end, I'll be happy if I ever understand my childhood Naming the names of the fields, lanes and unexplored woods
(c) December 15, 2023 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“Where there is no law, there is no liberty; and nothing deserves the name of law but that which is certain and universal in its operation upon all the members of the community.” – Benjamin Rush (1788)
The French soul Is wrapped around 500 year old plumbing Like a lump of coal On a Christmas day It has its significance And at times its magnificence But there's something to say For finding other, better ways And even the naughty find It incredibly numbing To find oneself in a gaze More often than not Politically incorrect these days Faux culture pays in contribution Clueless of an actual solution But unable to even consider quitting Guilty as it is, yet unable to acquit Itself from a lifetime's habits That assured itself of its rightful place Brazen as a nude walk Across the bridge to simply talk Keeping astride the controversy This is the French way, not heresy It makes the stranger proud To feel more lonely in a Parisian crowd The joke of this truth is honesty of it all Played like the knife that breaks your fall
(c) December 14, 2023 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Every once in a while, you find That life can be a smile and be kind You find, as I've sometimes found That if you don't chase it around
Love shows up, and it is kind The best kind of love is when love is blind Love that shows up out of nowhere And, suddenly, it's just there
Traced through history's pages Down through the ages If you stop trying, you find That the best kind of love is blind
The love that begins from somewhere inside Doesn't get as lost in vanity or false pride But instead is a connection of the souls Instead of being led by the eyes and the nose
To really know someone from their heart Feels to me like the cleanest way to start Asking the questions that truly let you know If the connection is real enough to let love flow
Can you really ask for more Than taking this down to its core? Getting that charge from authentic communication That's a great sign of the truest connection
(c) December 13, 2023 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“We should be unfaithful to ourselves if we should ever lose sight of the danger to our liberties if anything partial or extraneous should infect the purity of our free, fair, virtuous, and independent elections.” – John Adams (1797)
Usually quiet and sometimes reserved Sometimes death seems so undeserved It's hard to find the words to say Like on this present Poinsettia Day
Life is sad, yet interesting, in procession Moments like these reveal this is not a possession But a gift to be lived each moment with love As if always aware of the heavens above
I saw this often in David's eyes As he looked on his family as if wise Enough to know what was important And accept his life without resentment
But to be lived in its fullness and giving Filled with laughter and forgiving His smile was a smile to always remember And I do, on this sad day in December
Poinsettia, a flower so much like a star Observed up close or even from afar It makes me think of the story of the first Noel As shepherds woke to find that first Christmas tale
Up above their heads in the dark midnight There, they saw that star shining bright How I wish I could share its healing light And make everything turn out right
How I wish I could share its healing light And make everything turn out right This isn't the kind of news angels usually bring But I pick up my guitar and start to sing
Plucking notes with a heart filled with sorrow Wishing I could breathe some of my life for him to borrow Here on this cold winter's night that feels so deep I do my best to not breakdown and openly weep
(c) December 12, 2023 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
