Gary Bryson

Gary Bryson Poems

Where do poems come from?
My young daughter said.
Do they come from a poem tree
That grows in your head?

A shepherd my Lord will be unto me,
A shepherd when I go astray.
His Word my guide, His Will to see,
I’m a sheep who has lost its way.

I wish I were a bird on a wire,
As they gather at sunset, the world to inspire.
Huddled on every square inch they can find,
Like clumps of seaweed on a fowled anchor line.

Pillowy powder
Falls from the sky,
I gaze in wonder,
As the white flakes fly.

Then the Lord answered Job and said:

Who is this who distorts my words,
And does so with knowledge that’s vain,

Aweigh now your anchors
Set trim to your sails,
For the voyage of your mind
Will spin wondrous tales.

Find rest my soul in lyric’s chime,
Refreshed anew by making rhyme.
It’s course my thoughts direct the paths
That make my mind to sing.

After the war,
and the forest burned down,
Nothing was left,
save the scorched barren ground.

Surely there’s a righteous man,
Surely there’s a few.
Lord surely some would keep their Faith,
And trust alone in You.

I Once Was A Warrior
A Sonnet to the Wounded Warriors

I once was a warrior, but now today,

One voice, one breath against the wind,
Awed by the fragile life within.
T’is humbling who we really are,
Amazed we made it safe this far,

A young mother waits lonely,
But with war it didn’t start.
It began with a with a duty,
To country and heart.

There are places that we fear to go,
Our judgment wise from what we know.
The cautions path we tread with care,
Cause there be tigers lurking there.

Who are you, and who am I
And do we know the reason why.

We board a ship called Foolish Fate

The majesty of his power,
And his unlimited might,
The wondrous depths of all knowing love,
He sees in the purest of light.

Oft I wandered in my mind,
Through memories green like summertime.
Traveling forgotten paths of yore,
To places that I’ve been before.

Too small to be measured,
Yet I carry great weight.
Like the flip of a switch,
I determine your fate.


Thought I’d try Haiku,
I’ve never tried it before.

I just saw it happen,
in front of my eyes,
A life has now ended,
a horrible demise.

Growing green, the soft light screens,
Bright shadows of the day.
It’s lazy crawl, on garden walls,
The ivy has it’s way.

The Best Poem Of Gary Bryson

*where Do Poems Come From

Where do poems come from?
My young daughter said.
Do they come from a poem tree
That grows in your head?
Or is there a cloud
That rains in your mind?
And waters the verses
Of a nursery rhyme vine.

Daddy, where do the poems come from?
I just want to know.
Are they like a big quilt
You imagine and sew.
Or do poems make a picture
Like a painting so fine?
Just please don’t stop saying
My poems at bedtime.


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