Dan Hanosh

Dan Hanosh Poems

Through the trees, opaque
billowy pillows, splash on
an azure canvas, sailing furiously,
beyond my view.

I move my pen across
the parchment, sometimes with
such precise strokes,
proceeding without

A dark gloomy scene
fills my window pane
a cool breeze blows
suggesting rain

The time was not right,
is it ever, you had
your life, I had mine,
infatuation, maybe, maybe love.

That fateful day in
September, fear surfaced
For a nation, once again.

fills my senses
browns, oranges, yellows
meld into the sky, a
back dropp for this

Bombarded by worries
of money and time
maybe my dream needs
to be put on hold

her silken fibers worn by the wind and rain
cling to her feeble shoulders a painted facial
tautness grainy as parchment screams for the sun’s
sweet rays her smile beams brightly clover among

Many years have past since
I’d been a gung-ho youth of fourteen
Vietnam had been a child-like fantasy of
glory and honor cradling me proudly

Nothing matters
when happiness alludes
not the environment
not peace not family not

Grains of sand,
sift, through
my fingers,

The revolving strobe of the lighthouse
dances brightly against the rocky coast
and out of the salty surf rises the rough
rigid rocks from beneath the waters

I’ve been lucky to
have lived two lives,
one for money and the
other for me.

Constant murmur,
drowning the chatter
of the children, splashing
in the pool.

I sit, trying
to come up with
something unique,

Dan Hanosh Biography

I first started writing on a trout stream and haven't stopped yet...)

The Best Poem Of Dan Hanosh

The World Outside My Window

Through the trees, opaque
billowy pillows, splash on
an azure canvas, sailing furiously,
beyond my view.

Trees bending, each limb,
each branch, separately
shifting, everything dusted,
by a cold white blanket.

The hard rust road,
emitting bits, pieces,
translucent, behind the gray
dismal trees, now empty.

A picture, it’s beauty, a mere
landscape, unknown to all,
framed by my window where I work,
each day, composing, my words.

The sun breaks, the silence,
momentarily, revealing itself,
another frothy foam drowning
the expressions of light.

The green needles of a lone pine,
dangle, high above, scooping up
the rays of the sun,
today, there are few.

Sounds of motion, rush by,
swoosh, invading
my senses, suggesting
movement, contour.

Another cloud seizes the
sun, insinuating what
will surely come,
maybe not today, but soon.

Cold, moisture falling,
again, from the sky,
clouds, delivering white starlets,
multifaceted inhabitants.
Cumulus, like trees, dropping
their unneeded luggage,
as though aging, as a man
losing his youth.

Today, I understand,
the world outside
my window, a fragile old world,
that’s getting older.

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