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Linda M. Guilbault

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Sterling Heights, MI, US

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A Philosophical Assessment

by

Linda M. Guilbault

This message that I bring you
(Though I feel it is expressed in ineffective words)
Is something that must be understood,
And not just merely heard,

For what is said is only as important
And as meaningful as you infer.
But that is was said with an intense passion
Be rest assured.

A person is not a person
Unless he knows what he is inside.
Not behind a mask,
Cliches or excuses does he hide,
But in his heart respects
The morals and beliefs
By which he so adamantly abides.

A person is not a lover
Unless the intent in his heart is sincere,
So that deception or infidelity
Is never the cause of a tear.
That vows are kept
In the name of God
For the one whom he holds so dear.

A person is not a friend
Unless he sees the needs of his fellow man,
And will open up his heart and soul
To do whatever he can.
One who does the giving,
Not obsessed with receiving,
Who would willingly lend a helping hand.

But not so much as what a person is not
And more important than who a person is,
Is what a person wants
And is capable of becoming -
Things he strives for as he lives.

For I believe deep within us all
Is the essence of what we consider ideal,
But we bury that essence in the bustle of life,
Not taking time to make space or feel

And explore the intimate depth of our soul,
For we are all some kind of schemer.
A realist, perhaps an idealist,
Or possibly a continual dreamer.

How can a working man's passion survive
When he slaves, hour after hour,
And not be overwhelmed at a saffron sunset
Or stop to smell a sweet flower?

I have difficulty understanding this at all
Since this kind of beauty is most entrancing,
Like watching the sun and clouds play hide & go seek,
Feel the breeze, see the wind dancing

Upon an earthy carpet of an Indian summer's leaves,
Under a full, waxing Martinmas moon,
And the paint-filled streaks of a new dawn
Where a life giving sun will appear soon.

Blinded is the man incapable of seeing this
For I'm sure his life is commonplace and dim.
But far shall I be from any kind of suffering
That would result from my pitying him. (not true)

For a person is not his own
Unless he can value what he is,
And be self-aware, recognize
The pride within him that is his,
And will do the things
Which make him unique
And decides the kind of life he will live

A person is the rare element
Who makes all of humanity a special kind.
Who links the endless chain of love
When two person's needs are combined.
Who makes softness and peace,
Unity and love,
And a special beauty a little easier to find.


Retrospect

by

Linda M. Guilbault

Can I ask for something more substantial in life?
Do I have the right?
Can I demand that my opinions be heard
And ideas for which I fight?

Do I dare to make a wave,
A ripple on a quiet stream?
Can I try to fill that emptiness I have?
Do I dare to follow my dream?

Who am I to have the audacity
To make others hear what I say?
They may not listen, but who do I think I am
To be lucky to live another day?

What makes me think I'm so special
That someone would give me the time of day?
Who do I think I am to search for happiness?
And yet, who are they?

Are There No More Inclusions?

by

Linda M. Guilbault

Beauty and love
Touches one's heart
For the sake of one's end
And another's start.

What happens between
Are morals, needs,
Wants, loves,
Planting one's seed,

Trials and failures,
Permenance, fads,
Learning the difference
Between good and bad.

Corruption and sin,
Greed, lust,
Infidelity, self dependency,
Who to and not to trust.

Responsibilities and goals,
Religion and rights,
A table to eat at,
A bed to sleep on at night.

Real deep hurting,
Missing, care,
Sorrow and happiness,
Things too severe to bear.

Stereotyped living,
"You can't do this",
A little understanding,
A soft kiss.

Impressions and worries,
Dislikes and likes,
Diapers, bibs, smiles
And three wheeled bikes.

Just barely surviving,
Not surviving at all,
Being too short,
Being too tall.

But beauty and love at one's start
Gives the innocence upon one's face,
And at one's end, courage and pride
To relinquish it all with grace.

The Quixotic Marriage of Sir Lawrence and Lady Linda

by

Linda M. Guilbault

The chivalrous knight
Stood near the drawbridge, upright,
His burnished hauberk reflected his hair.

Came the baron approaching,
His visage sternly reproaching.
"What business have you, not that I care".

The knight stood meekly, trying,
On his nerve relying,
"I've come for my lady, fair and sweet

Since spring flowers are blooming
And my heart is swooning.
A sweet nuance of love in the air does entreat."

"On my estate dare you appear
Or even draw near
For the hand of the most beauteous girl?

Be not so bold.
My fists are not old!
Get thee away, roguish churl!"

The baron's temper was rocking,
The knight's knees knocking.
"Please, my lord, I speak in sooth -

Your daughter captured my heart
And I hers, from the start.
We're in love, I tell you the truth."

Now the baron, disbelieving,
Took the knight's face a deceiving.
Prodigious rage grew forth with hate.

"Call her my lady nevermore,
Nor appear before my grand estate door
Or my word that death will be your fate."

"Father, this is my knight Lawrence.
I wish to marry." Her voice rang in sweet resounance
As she called from the window in a gentle voice.

"Think you to marry whom you please?
Why I'll string him from the trees!
Your lord and master will be MY choice!"

Now the girl was crying,
The knight dolefully sighing.
It seemed that all hope was lost,

But to himself, thought the knight,
"I'll give that baron a fight.
I'll marry my lover whatever the cost."

So later, the night,
When the stars shone bright,
Saw the knight coming sneakily with rope.

"My love, be on the wing
Lest the morning birds sing.
Tonight we shall elope."

"Is that you, love Larry?
I shall not tarry.
Give me a moment to garment, my bard."

But came the baron to his pane,
His face cringed insane.
"Foolish knave! Call out the guards!!"

And like a jack rabbit he dashed,
In a courtyard bush he was stashed,
Determined to try again on the morrow.

The dark, cold night was silently long,
Save for the knight's lamenting song
Filled with desire, with woe, with sorrow.

Early morning, though the sun lack,
Came a man of the cloth in black.
Upon the barons' daughter he came to call.

"Good Sir, I've heard of your troubling news,
And I fear what may ensue.
Let me bless thy child, lest evil befall."

"Vassal of God, I wish no doom.
I'll show you to my daughter's room
That you may rid her of things amiss."

Yet up to her room the priest sped,
Locked the door, turned his head
And gave Lady Linda a voluptuous kiss.

But she, frighted,
Not knowing whom she sighted,
Moved away, scared terribly.

"Don't leave me in fright.
Better yet, hold me tight!
For I am the knight who loves you, Larry!"

"Lawrence! Hide you in there?",
Questioned the lovely lady fair.
Feeling the passion in her heart start to rise.

"How I have deeply longed for you
The entire lonely night through.
Where you flew I could not even surmise."

"Your eyes sparkle like the starts above.
You whet my amorous mood for love.
You have skin of silk and lips of red wine.

Your brown locks glint like morning dew.
Enough of this business - to woo!
Having you as my wife will do me fine."

Then he took her hand on bent knee,
Words came forth so romantically.
His voice rang low with a chime.

He looked up at his only dear,
His eyes slowly brimmed in tears
As he expressed his heartfeld, nuptial rhyme.

"Marry me, oh my sweet rose
From whose affection that drowns my senses flows.
I know you love me as I you."

"And what of my lord?
He'll meet you with a sword."
"Let us confront him. What else can we do?"

And as if cornered in a lair,
They crept, stair by stair
Til they was the baron pacing the floor.

"Priest? You are not!
You are the knave I wot!
I shall run thee out the door."

"I pray thee, father, sir,
Our passion you cannot deter.
Please father, I wish him my master."

"On myu knee I'll take her hand
And offer her the blessed wedding band.
Be my father-in-law, not my caster."

The baron's face softened in relaxation,
He looked as if in deep contemplation.
Thus the decision he up and spake:

"For one to endure to much trouble
For a woman, it shall soon double!!"
(He jests). "I give you my daughter's hand to take."

"Oh my lord so very kind,
Words of appreciation I'm not able to find!"
Blurten Lawrence, excited, thrilled.

And in the House of God they were wed,
Eager for the life they saw ahead,
Each other's wants and needs forever filled.

The Boy

by

Linda M. Guilbault

The dark twilight succumbs to dawn
As the soft glow of the daystar
scales lush green hills.
Opulent crimsons give way to goldem ambers,
Reticent heavens greedily hide their treasures
As if a till.
Auster lazily embraces the earth
And crystals of dew glisten like diamonds.
All is at peace, as it was once before.
As the escalating daystar approaches a summit,
It's magnified rays bandy to and fro, as if coy,
Until one breaks loose
And in it's streaking swiftness makes a discovery.
At the base of a fertile, mountain-like hill
Sits a small, tawny headed boy.
Not any boy, mind you,
But a small, tawny headed boy
Reclined on a thick cushion of grass and clover.
He dazes off towards the sun's berth.
He seems to be an alien here.
He does not belong,
As his eyes are wild and untamed.
He has the soft, reddened face of a cherub,
Full,round lips,
And rosy cheeks.
But those eyes!
Those elusive, disconcerting eyes
of ebony glare
could collate to the razor sharp dagger
That met with Ceasar.
These eyes pervaded the very essence
of anyone he met-
Which was seldom
For it was his way to be aloof.
The daystar welcomed him the the new day
With a warm kiss.
The little boy's only response to the caress
Was to shield himself with his hand
Resting horizontal,adjacent to his brow.
His elbow was propped on his knee.
"Strange little boy" pouted the sun.
"Who is this who would refuse the grandest give of all?".
The sun then begin babbling,
Looking elsewhere for other pleasures.
As shade overcame the tawny headed boy -
Given to frequent autistic-like states,
He looked up.
One would almost swear the boy had allowed
A look of worry to come upon his face.
He lifted his hand, looking for the sun,
But it was too late.
All that was needed was a little coaxing.
But it is not nature's way,
Nor is it many peoples'.

BUT YOU ARE NOT THERE

by

Linda M. Guilbault

When life seems to get
So horribly tiring,
My hopes, dreams,
Slowly expiring.

Hopelessness invades
My thoughts at night.
Everything is wrong,
Nothing seems right.

I reach to you
For comfort, care.
I reach out for you,
But you're not there.

When endeavors produce
Failures, pain,
When people are cruel,
Life insane,

When it is so crucial
To feel your touch,
A calming hug in your arms,
Something I love so much,

I reach to you
For comfort, care.
I reach out for you,
But you're not there.

When tears fill my eyes
From missing you so,
And I need that understanding
I've come to know,

When I lay at night alone
With an empty feeling inside,
My thoughts turn to you
Where I often hide.

I reach to you
For comfort, care.
I reach out for you,
But you're not there.

I don't think you ever really were.

Existence - The Omen of Death

by

Linda Guilbault

Existence is nothing but mere illusion
Designed for nothing but total confusion.
That is the role that fate plays -
To builds us up, then take us away.

It hides itself in blackened shades,
Reflections subdued, only to fade.
There is no just arbitration
So stand prepared for the final damnation.

But where is the good that is His?
Good seems to be a wish, not what is.
Are we to be damned to the physical state
Whose release remains a lifetime's wait


Danny's Release

by

Linda M. Guilbault

Dying is an indirect gift of life.
It takes away pain, hardship and strife.
It releases one from worry and strain,
Takes away the saddness and the pain.
Hurt and suffering exist no more,
Life is not longer a task, a chore.
Then why must you sob and hurt and cry
When someone close to you dies?
Your crying for yourself, not you loved one,
But when the crying and sorrow is done,
And when the pain and hurt is through,
The only one you cry for and pity is you.

The Candle

by

Linda M. Guilbault

The candle stood in front of the window
For many and many a day,
But no matter how hard the wind tried to kill it
It's flame would always stay,

And the rain came in cruel pellets
Aimed for the orange wick,
But no matter how hard the rain tried,
It's flame would always stick.

Then many a deceiving snow petal
On an innocent path would feign
To flutter on it's luminous pulse,
Yet the glow would still remain.

And many a two faced human
With lying breath would blow,
And many a two faced human turned purple
But the flame still would not go.

Many and many an ocean's swell
Would rise to the shore and heave
At the poor undefended candle,
But it's glow still would not leave.

And the window pane would quiver
And try to push it off to the chair,
Never ceasing to kill it but,
Suprisingly, the flame was still there.

The candle was very proud
And though it deserved some praise.
It stood straight and proud and dignified,
The wick stood high, raised.

But the world stood stark stoned stiff,
Indifferent to anything about.
So the candle took one last breath
and sadly puffed itself out.

All others called him a coward
Who couldn't take life because it was too rough.
They didn't realize that they were the ones
Who contributed to the action of the candle, sadly enough. 16