Words for the journey

 Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Love is not love
that turns away
when storms and darkness
claim the day...
Or, that covers its eyes
when faced with pain,
or that turns and runs
when comes the rain.
 

For love does not count
its gain or loss
when its object is found
in the tempest tossed...
Nor build up walls
to behind them hide,
leaving its object
on the other side.
 

No, love is not love
that sits and waits
when its object is passing
through trouble's gates...
For love must run swift
to its object's side
and, by nothing on earth
let its path be denied.
 

 ~Joseph Weilenbeck 2018 

 Monday, October 1, 2018

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 Author's Note: This is not "how I think", but it is often "what I  feel". It is the bold imprint that clinical depression has embroidered  upon the fabric of my life. I can sometimes look past it; but even then,  it remains in my field of view. It beckons me to embrace it.
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Remembering forgotten places
Recalling unfamiliar faces
Grasping at the fading traces
  of life's last and least remains
  of tears and laughter, joy and pain
  of moments not to be again.
Wondering what life can mean
When you've lost all time and hope to dream.
 

When yesterdays surpass tomorrows
When joys are beaten back by sorrows
And you're out of chances you can borrow
  from days too short, and nights too long
  with strength too scarce to carry on
 until, at last, your soul gives up its song.
When the path ahead is short and mean
And you've lost all time and hope to dream.
 

 ~Joseph Weilenbeck 2017 

 Tuesday, May 22, 2018

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Author's  note: Whether it's the years or illness, I don't know. But, I find  myself recalling brief moments long past - moments of no great  significance - moments more simple than profound.  Moments marked by  things like the look of the sky, the feel of the air, the fragrance of  the trees, or the feeling of vastness looking out across the desert. I  can almost recall the sights, the sounds, the feeling. Almost, but not  quite. And I am saddened, for each time those moments come, their stay  is shorter and their clarity less. I fear that soon they will be lost  forever.
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The moments dance
before my eyes
then teasing,
run and hide where I can't see.
So, I search
and when I find
that very spot,
I look behind.
But all that I see hiding there is me.

No moments to treasure.
No moments of pleasure.
No moments lived, to be lived again.
Just the last half of a memory,
of a time and place that use to be,
on a road that cannot lead from now to then.

So, I wait in silence
patiently
for the if and when
of another one to pass.
I hold my net
and when it's time,
I take a swing
but all I find
is a prayer to God that it won't be my last.

No treasure to catch.
No pleasure to match
those moments real that now in shadows hide.
Just the taillights of a memory
on the horizon of what use to be
fading into darkness on the other side. 
 

 ~Joseph Weilenbeck  2018  

Tuesday, March 12, 2007

  
Current hot topics
For mindless myopics
"What everyone's talking about!"
Continual blather
For all who will gather
To join in the crowd's empty shout.

Pure vapid drivel
For vain heads that swivel
At the sight of "the star of the day".
Meaningless bleating
From tongues like drums beating
But managing nothing to say.

Smiling flatliners
Who major in minors
Who would cringe at the thought of a thought.
Useless buffoons
Who all sing the same tunes
Through a hole in the face that they bought.

Self-proclaimed hotties
Who worship their bodies
Who, if they could think, would think we'd do the same
Never-used minds
Speak as from their behinds
And, if we listen, then we are to blame.

And worse, we may become the same.
 

    ~Joseph Weilenbeck 2007
Written in 2007 after watching a mind-numbing 20 minutes of morning TV talk shows.  

 Saturday, April 28, 2018

Seems the memories
now come, then flee
and disappear
behind the walls
of age and time
and my troubled mind,
no more to hear me when I call.
 

They show their face
then leave a space,
a void to last
forevermore.
Taking one more part
of my breaking heart,
they turn away
and close the door.

Time now lost,
its drawers all tossed
from searching for
what might remain
of distant places
and forgotten faces,
all washed away
with yesterday's rain.

My book of dreams
and plans and schemes,
it seems is nowhere
to be found.
In the fading light
of the coming night,
it's buried deep
in covered ground.
 

 ~Joseph Weilenbeck 2017 

 Friday, April 27, 2018

Why do you lie beside me still
   And stir not least upon my touch?
Do you lack strength, or maybe will,
    My trembling hand to even clutch?
 

Does morning hold no promise bright
    To coax your sleeping eyes awake?
Will they not lift but ever slight,
    In pity, my worst fears to take?

Why do your lips now grow so cold,
    Though bathing in the sun’s warm glow?
Is there not another kiss they hold?
    Nor one more smile for them to show?

Does your heart not have another beat,
    That I could feel upon my own?
If not, ‘tis all of my defeat.
    This morning’s sun need ne’er have shown.
 

 ~Joseph Weilenbeck 1998 
Written in sympathy for a friend - whose husband unexpectedly passed away in their bed one morning.