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Bryon D. Howell

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New Haven, CT, US

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Bright Side of Uncertainty

by

Bryon D. Howell

Uncertainty is such a lovely state...
I write my best behind the walls of doubt;
imagination opens up a gate...
and I am met by worlds to write about.
When pain is blinding me from what is real,
I find this peaceful place inside my mind;
and though I may not know just what I feel...
Iíve grabbed my pen and left this life behind.
I reach into the darkness and despair,
confusion finds a rhythm and a rhyme;
my weariness becomes creative flair...
it gets me through the rough spots every time.
I write my poems, guess I feel fine;
the best defense against all strife and grief.


Being Humble

by

Bryon D. Howell


It seems that everybody has a plan,
a goal to which they give their heart and soul;
they plot a course, do everything they can...
and suddenly the keyword is control.
I see how everybody hits a wall,
from time to time itís just what comes to be;
no matter how they pine, they seem to fall...
despite their passion and intensity.
I think that I would rather play it cool,
and let the future look out for its own;
the humble one will never look the fool...
like those who go on blindly and alone.
In realizing I am not that tough...
Iím satisfied, and mine is just enough.

Expectations of a Kid

by

Bryon D. Howell

I always dreamed of what would someday be,
when I was young, Iíd rise above with grace;
as I grew up my own naivety...
became my foe, I fell upon my face.
My expectations suspect all the way,
perfection was my goal, my standards high;
I soared into the darkest clouds of gray...
as other painted rainbows in the sky.
When I was young, I thought Iíd rob the light,
that I would be a leader and revered;
but here I sit, a homeless soul tonight...
my sun has set, Iím all alone and scared.
I dreamed at night expecting sweet success-
my standards now; I settle for much less!

Gram

by

Bryon D. Howell

When I was less than one my mother did,
a thing which younger mothers often do;
she left me with my grandma as a kid...
abandoned me and broke my heart in two.
My grandma raised me best as she knew how,
she let me dream-believe that I could fly;
in looking back, Iím grateful for that now...
because of her today, I own the sky.
Most mothers tell their kids "Donít live in dreams."
Grandmothers tell the children "Chase them all!"
Because my grandma raised me, so it seems...
my dreams came true and I am standing tall.
Today Iím grateful I was left with Gram...
without her, I would not be who I am.

Love in a Desert

by

Bryon D. Howell

Through deserts I did crawl without a drink,
I twisted and I hungered for your love;
I saw things which do not exist, I think...
your face up in the hazy sky above!
I stumbled to a cactus now and then,
but they too were as dry as dry could be;
I dreamed of rivers flowing once again...
as long as you were gone they could not be.
A vulture started hovering around
of course, I knew the meaning of his flight;
I laid my weary body on the ground...
and froze to death that cold and lonely night!
Deathís frozen kiss left me completely drenched...
my thirst for you just then was truly quenched.

Natural Resources

by

Bryon D. Howell

I used to cringe when I would find a stain,
upon my pants or on some new club shirt;
if it was blood or oil I complained,
but smiled when I found out it was dirt.
Today all types of marks exist ignored,
I can't afford to buy expensive soaps;
the ones in which ingredients are stored,
the kinds which do the job beyond all hopes.
You might say I was more or less extreme,
one mark and I would throw away a suit;
when I had money, laundry was a dream,
it's funny how things change when there's no loot.
Today the spots add character to rags_
duds only stay so clean in plastic bags!