C H Sund

C H Sund Poems

He never cried
except himself to see
for wasn’t he a man
born above these ways?

effervescent, the
dancer glides through hazy fog
sharpened steel blades lead

“The apple, reddish plump,
hanging from rooted branch
beckoning to be taken, tasted
to savor deep, sweet, sweet flesh.”

Colors flood through window front
as speaker’d music regales
but eyes seek only curves at hand
and hands are moving… moving well.

“We are pleased to announce…”
Let us gather and reminisce
about the lies told way back then…
and the lies even larger now!

Grandfather, the clock, lone sentinel,
stands in hallway; has always stood there.
Never sleeping, rhythmically calling
keeping time, measured time, tolling.

Grayish tones
Silent breezes
Whispered sounds
A coyote speaks

Honey, I love you….love you a lot.
Have always loved you… will always too.
But Honey…Honey please, tell me why?
Why you wear those damn flannel PJs!

in money
and her beauty

Halla, a Shepard man, tended flocks
Among the hills of Babel town
No greater Shepard trod these hills
Or safely guarded his minions more

Clichéd you say… Hell no!
I take a licking and keep on ticking
Me, I am the all American guy
use to be just the average Joe

Here we go 'round the georgie bush,
The georgie bush,
The georgie bush.
Here we go 'round the georgie bush,

Grow up little one, the world awaits…
but stay awhile first.

Grow up wise, learn to fly…

(this is not a true sonnet)

A sonnet, in classical form a charm
soft as sun dawn, it wakens spirit love

White lies… always white
until mirror does refute
but love ventured, truly spoken
need not washes applied.

They approach, drawn to neon’s glow
marveling at the light, the colors,
the intensity.
Curiosity causes a hand to reach


Yes, please, medicate me
give me a new reality

The fallacy of one man’s dreams
ought not to be touched
by you or me or any.
That dream is the food,

A lot is asked, suppositions given
treatises delivered, scripture quoted
with but a single word, one syllable…

Hello Dad…I turned around
for a moment… it was me.
How are you? the echo sounded.
What you doing? then came next.

The Best Poem Of C H Sund

A Mighty Oak?

He never cried
except himself to see
for wasn’t he a man
born above these ways?

He never loved
while others could see
for then his facade
just would not be.

He never asked
help from any man
only weak need aid
and was he not strong?

So he stood… alone
there among the trees
his roots, rotting away.
Yes, a mighty oak indeed!

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