How I love to write

I’d rather write than eat or fight.

I pen these poems and tales with all my might,

When I rework it enough I’ll always get it just right!

Oh

I live a life of a rolling stone,

And in it I find the words to my own life song.

Aw

The many villains and alluring Jezabels,

I describe these vivid erotic dreams

And bitter realities so well.

We all live for something

And I live for mine.

Let me speak of my flying wing,

Since its writing the next line.

Beginning at 0500 on every Sunday,

I submit poems and stories in batches of three.

I know deep down that somehow I’ll leave my own legacy;

But in all honest truth I want to make a best selling story!

It's not pots of gold I wish to make,

But if somebody offers I’ll ne’er hesitate!

It's not for fame and glory that I languish in my wait,

I do it simply for the pleasure I find  in my ability to create!

I’ve been writing since the first grade of my life.

My initiating experience was one of two family poems published in a local paper

The day before Christmas eve night.

My second experience was in an educational  journal about conservation,

My finely crafted article was accepted with great elation.

Oh,

Nowadays I have came so far,

Yet

I still wish hard upon a falling star.

I feel as if I need to pull harder to make it over that veiled bar,

Maybe then I can cruise town in a luxurious car!

H.L. Dowless is a thirty five year writer who loves travel, exploring, and living life on the edge. 

Firefly in The sky

Firefly in the nighttime sky,

Where did you come from?

Where are you going to?

I can only imagine the thoughts

That are passing through your mind

As I stand here watching you a-flying.

When I walk down my midnight trail,

I see your twinkle clear as a daytime bell.

As I walk along in my darkened way,

I’ve been told you’ll guide me to

My earthly grave.

Does your sparkle count the days

Remaining until the earth fades?

Are you tallying the sunrises of my future life,

From this very moment until my final hour of strife?

I see your sudden sparkle with each concluding sound

Of the Whip-poor-Will.

I’ve long heard it was Satan snapping his flail on some unfortunate soul

And having his thrill.

I ease along in the night gloom beside this old plantation ruin,

Your sudden outward movement warns of a potential undoing.

I saunter down the hill toward the creek,

Fish and fur I do seek.

I will collect enough to make it through the coming week.

Without you flying nearby I simply wouldn’t succeed

I believe.

I’m utterly fascinated by your style,

As I walk this wood trail by the mile,

I’ve been that way since I was a small child,

When I dig for hand sized shark teeth

in this creekbank seashell pile.

H.L. Dowless is a thirty five year writer who loves travel, exploring, and living life on the edge. 

How I Feel

I’m falling,

I’m tumbling,

I’m plunging

Headlong

Into this bottomless pit of dismal despair.

Don’t know what I’m going to do,

Have no idea where I’m going to go,

Nobody wants what I have to show;

I can no longer distinguish outright lies from hard truth.

I’m a drift,

I’m wandering,

I’m searching

For something solid to grab onto.

A floating fragment of wood,

A genie’s magic kite in the wind!

A bit of information that might be understood;

Oh when

Will this begrudging journey ever end?

A stone,

A bleached bone,

Both arms are wildly flailing!

I’m wailing,

There is not even a sour glimmer of a midnight moon!

I’m grabbing at nothing

Somewhere so deep inside this imperceptible gloom.

Ahead

The bitterly cold winds blow,

Behind

lakes of white hot flames

Leap and rage,

In between

The angry waters flow.

Where is my place on life’s stage?

So I stumble.

I stagger,

I bumble,

I pick along in a drunkard’s swagger.

Am I moving forward?

Might I be walking backward?

Could I be grooving in a circle?

I never intended for such to be so.

When I was young I imagined a place,

A glittering castle,

An envied employed space,

A life free of hassle;

But there was no foot landing to start,

No ladder to climb,

Nary an endearing heart,

No elevator to ride,

No warm guiding hand to grab.

So I floundered,

I wallowed,

My life raft transporting me to my ship crashed ashore!

I was shocked at how friends and everybody were so gelid

As I drifted off into a mysterious shapeless void.

H.L. Dowless is a thirty five year writer who loves travel, exploring, and living life on the edge.