DR. PIATT - POEMS

Dr. Piatt has had poems nominated for Pushcart and Best of Web awards, and published in The 100 Best Poems Anthologies. He has published 3 poetry books “The Silent Pond” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms,”
(2014), and “LIGHT” (2016), 3 novels, 35 short stories, 7 essays, and over 865 poems. He earned his BS and MA from California Polytechnic University and his doctorate from BYU. His poetry books are available on Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

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​                         Darkness Into Light 
 
In the winter’s icy wind…
My mind struggled
Against
Obscurity,
Obliqueness, and
Vagueness,
Darkness invaded my complacency:
 
I traveled across a river and into the woods,
Down to a meadow and across a Stream,
I floated in golden dreams hidden in my fading mind…
Swam fearfully in the rip tides
Of my finiteness:
 
Light faded into my
Obscure senses
As I escaped into the woodland,
Then…
I heard the silence of granite stones Sitting on pebbly paths…
Discovered a calmness
In beautiful images
Of trees and flowers:
 
My soul emerged
To a place
Where a translucent pond
Quietly covered dark memories,
Where crickets
Played songs
On violin legs of tin
In metallic chords
Accompanied by basso voices
Of bullfrogs croaking
Melodious mating songs:
 
Before my eyes
Downy birds appeared,
Singing in soprano voices,
Songs of serenity
And happiness… and
I found my soul at ease.
 

Do You Hear It? 
 
               Do you hear it?
The sad movement of refugees,
Scratching in the souls of negligent nations…
 
               Do you hear it?
The iron-fixed notions of ideologists,
Scratching in the pages of absurd texts…
 
               Do you hear it?
The retching tears of sad children
Scratching in the bellies of the homeless…
 
 
              Do you hear it?
The grating of plastic cards
In wallets of those who don’t give a damn…
 
              Do you hear it?
The scratching of the sharp talons of death
Waiting for us all…

 
​                   Please Do Not Tell Me 
 
Please do not tell me…
 
That the pomegranate sun
Will not paint the hills with a pink haze
In the early hours of each morn,
 
Or the wrinkled ocean’s waves
Will not drift happy memories onto the
Heated sand, on sunny afternoons,
 
Or the crinkled shell of the conch
Will not echo tales into my ears, of
Lost ships, and ancient journeys,
 
Or the aroma of a red, red rose
Will not reach my yearning senses,
And, bring a calm to my daily hours,
 
Or the rhythmic songs of birds,
Will not paint the sky with happy music,
To erase the darkness in my heart,
 
Or the balmy breeze,
Will not waft poems into my mind,
Which, will rejuvenate my day,
 
Or the sand on the seashore,
Will not tell me briny stories and
Restore long forgotten memories,
 
Or the flowing brook
Will not refresh my mind, and
Bring a new serenity to my life,
 
Or my love,
Will not be there when I awake
In the early morning of each day,
 
For these beliefs are all that
Sustain my life.