Pop-up Poems

Warm banks of rock worn smooth by time
That hold our sun's gentle release,
And comfort limbs as they recline
Offering perspective and peace.
Floatsom bobs and dips on waves
That roll and peak but never tire.
Strength and beauty, nature saves,
In stores to humble and inspire.
Deep beds of moss grow under shade,
Reserving shapes of their past guests.
Where drying pods and sticks once laid
I sit at peace and feel so blessed.
As long as I can breathe and see
I'll be thankful to simply be.



(c) 2002 - Philip E. Hopkinson

Around each corner lays a mystery
history has pocked the arch
time's somehow kind to paving stones
that lead one to the park

centuries of travelers
exist in their own minds
but rooftops and the old doorways
only see passers by.

Footsteps trod by families long long long ago
have been retraced by their great kin
as predicted by their old echos.

Flower grow as if it's known their time is to be brief
They celebrate each morning sun with every single leaf.
Seasons pass and so confirm the changes in our lives
To embrace the days you're given shows that you are wise.

ph. (02-03-03)

sometimes when i go out for dinner
with just my inner child
i think about how it would be
to go back to when i was five
when no one thought to blame me
for my shortcomings
when stupid kid stuff was
instantly forgiven

but then my food gets cold and
i snap back to a reality
that includes thermodynamics and
consequences for grown up choices

where ghosts of decisions born from impatience
not forsight and virtue
dance and tease with the prospect of
waking up on a morning before they came to be

and so i ask unashamedly for
the kiddie crayons and
color to my heart's content
secretly wishing to be told it's all going to be okay

ph. (08-02-02)

pinstripe beams of sunlight slip between the blinds
and stretch themselves across these walls and watch as i recline
the secret lives of photons
and their families and friends
can at best only be theorized
by which way darkness bends
illuminated particles of once far away stars
now spin and swim and slowly fade like lightning bugs in jars
all this slowly vanishes
as our globe so slowly turns
perhaps they will appear again
as tomorrow's lunch adjourns.