The Fear Factor

“When I hear people talk about a fear of failing, I get so tired. You think you’re afraid of failing, but in fact you’re doing it now. Let’s talk about your fear of succeeding.”
-Gordon Hays 2016

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Business Cards

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Garden of a Man

Divided Man

The garden of a man’s mind is not found easily.

To your eyes it is high rock walls,

and shielded in weapons of many sort.

He will too often give a key to traitors and oath breakers,

perhaps in a way, to remind himself of why he keeps it hidden.

To be given access to his fertile ground,

be the water, flowing to his deep hungry roots.

Nourish him…his dreamland.

That is the way inside a man.

Gordon Hays, 2006

Puppy Love

bucky 1

Oh, just a puppy kind of love they say.

When days are filled with sloppy kisses so.

Whether playing fetch, tug of war or stay,

wherever he runs, so does my heart go.

I wake to nuzzle before the sun’s rise.

I burry my nose in his soft black fur.

Forever a friend found in deep brown eyes.

Even walks to poop can be a pleasure.

Alas, before he came, all hope seemed lost.

A man alone in need of rescue,

unconditional love I needed most.

A pup arrived to heal a heart so blue.

Now write a sonnet for little Bucky.

Because he chose me, I feel so lucky.

“Puppy Love” Gordon Hays 2013

Gordon and Bucky 3

Dear Joe…

I wrote the poem featured below two years ago during my Creative Writing course, and wanted to share it again with my fellow bloggers! I was enjoying my delicious espresso beverage a few mornings ago, reminding me of my love and longing for all things Arabica. Savor!

Coffee

“Dear Joe”

Dear Joe, don’t go. I long for more.
Stay, your stain upon my lips, I beg…oh, please.
Every taste is a pleasure, like none before.
Morning after morning, my heart does soar.
Is it any wonder the night plays cruelest tease?
Dear Joe, don’t go. I long for more.
You and I bound together at our core.
A day without you, and I brim with endless unease.
Every taste is a pleasure, like none before.
Why fight, why resist your frothy pour?
Down, down, I drink your dark brewed seas.
Dear Joe, don’t go. I long for more.
Some might say I am your whore.
Your fluid ounces I greedily seize.
Every taste is a pleasure, like none before.
No life imaginable without your grind, nor
searing sips as these.
Dear Joe, don’t go. I long for more.
Every taste is a pleasure, like none before.

– Gordon Hays 2013

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