“Meh, a simple little glass
Shine, glimmer, yet crass”–
Hollow as may be the look,
I still keep all in my book.
From this see-through haven,
I feel many a raven;
Still, in your world so far,
I know distant smiles and laughs.
From the jingle when guests walk in
To nourishing and keeping slim,
Every day you grow older,
I feel sunshine and smolder.
Summer Glass Autobiography
As the summer heat scorches,
You make sweat in every beat;
You also sigh at each bend.
Hand me off–when does it end?
I help you quench your thirst;
You may thank but never burst,
But in the end, I know
You need me to live and grow.
Some, overrun with greed,
Store more water than they need;
Some, in their blank chores,
Waste some life while Heaven roars.
Each time I feel your lip,
I could run in joy and slip;
But I have realized that you
Must drink; and I must quench, too.
Rainy Glass Autobiography
The way of nature has its mean.
Things go back how they have been.
The first raindrops drop to earth
Freeing her from ordained dearth!
The children roll under covers,
Scared, when thunderclouds hover;
They shake my shelf and show me
That God’s wrath is not phony.
My brothers fall, crack, and die!
I have watched too many times.
Why can we not save our dears
For me: no force; for you: fear.
I feel Johnny, the lord’s boy,
Who sits sadly with still toys
While the others all play games.
“They are not for me,” he says.
I would give him a warm hug
Tell him we miss his soft tug.
Autumn Glass Autobiography
Now, Autumn is a time for change–
Leaves turn brown within that range.
The master has some guests home;
For them, he brings out his chrome.
Out they come, and in I go.
Guests before have raised no brows;
Why does this spesh treatment rouse?
This guest has his pockets stuffed,
For him, the master is fluffed.
Thus, he gets the silver spoons;
The smiles stay, my sadness grows;
You forget, but I still know.
The lonely times sure collapse.
Why must you make such big gaps?
Why matters what dress wears he
Can we not judge all aptly?
Late-Autumn Glass Autobiography
Autumn winds have done their best.
Now Late Autumn brings harvest.
I am out by Master’s will;
He felt that he had lost gills.
That brings me to one key point:
Why we hate those we appoint.
Apparently, one white house
Is worth more than your own spouse,
And we love to give power
To hands that just devour.
Is this game for the old man,
Because I am not a fan?
A perk of being me is
Though I cannot touch or quiz,
I can never lie to you
I feel much the cursed blue.
Winter Glass Autobiography
Winter brings pleasant bombshells.
Drinking life goes off the rails.
You still need to dry your throat,
But not so that I can gloat.
Colds and coughs may scare old fools,
But young rebels break the rules–
Little Johnny drops in ice
To water that will suffice.
He waits for the ice to melt–
He has this under his belt.
A magic while, and voila!
Cold drink in a safe manner.
He knows it comes with fever;
In him, I see a river–
He is brave and having goals,
But a mischievous wee soul.
Spring Glass Autobiography
I feel hustle and bustle–
And the growing plants rustle.
The old master rekindles
Her love that could cure shingles
While the cuckoo sings its songs
Of peace, forgetting all wrongs.
Rebirth takes the world by storm,
Yet some things are but the norm–
This old glass with soul in it
Feels these notes hoping to hit
A chord of transcendent love.
Though scriptures from up above
May give you, but not me, life;
Like the honey in the hive,
I, too, have my own presence.
I, too, learn my own lessons.
Like honey from honeycombs;
Respect wood, which fills your tombs.
The world is a family
What is prize’s an entity.
In this family, we give,
Not knowing but to receive;
For the world sports Yin and Yang–
This, my friend, is the world’s thang.