Unpublished Poetry

Let’s get this out right off the bat – I am not a poet.

I AM a writer. Have been since I was nine. But a poet? Not so much.

Most of this is pretty crappy prose, or unimaginative rhyme. It’s largely stream-of-consciousness, and it’s pretty damned lame. I have no idea why I began to compose this stuff in the first place, frankly. But here it is. If you are reading this, either I really like you, I’ve managed to publish my other, far greater works and decided that this should see the light of day as well, or you are being tortured against the Geneva conventions by an uncaring government. Either way – you have been warned.

A haiku: The Legend

The wizard cried out
Lightning from his fingers came
The legend was born.

– MJ Blehart
December 12, 1993

Dream of the Stargazer

Alone he sits, beside the fountain, under the stars.
Staring out at the water.
I am alone, he laments.
He waits. Hoping.
Maybe someone will see me, sitting here, alone.
And maybe that someone will talk to me.
And maybe that someone is as lonely as I am, and we’ll start on common ground.
And maybe that someone will be a she.
We’ll talk. We’ll laugh. We’ll find we have a great many things in common.
And it will turn colder. And she will lean into me. And she’ll be beautiful.
She’ll smell sweet. She will make me warm. She will make me whole.
And then, she looks up at me, that knowing look on her face.
We kiss.
Oh, the kiss is sweet. Oh, how it warms me, body and soul.
And I find I am already in love with her.
We will tell them all how we met, beside the fountain, under the stars.
Two lonely, incomplete souls, finally brought together, as was meant to be.
And she will be as in love with me, as I am with her.
How wonderful it will be. How complete I will finally feel. I will no longer be alone.
But he sits, alone, beside the fountain, under the stars.
People approach. Some are lovely, as his dream.
And they pass by, not a word, not a smile, ignoring his very presence.
He sighs.
I am alone, he laments.
Sitting beside the fountain, under the stars.
Waiting. Hoping.
Stargazer. Dreamer.

– MJ Blehart
May 23, 1998

Inside my mind at a Quarter to Three

Open my heart, peer into my soul.
Where in my depths will I loose you?
I know that you have an ulterior goal.
How can you know if I’ll choose you?

Inside my mind at a Quarter to Three,
What do they see? What do they see?

Why do you put me in this kind of place?
Between love and hate, war and peace, joy and pain.
Again and again setting me off my pace,
like a worm crawling on through a sleeting rain.

Inside my mind at a Quarter to Three,
What do they see? What do they see?

Time is my enemy, never my friend.
Leading me onwards, the proverbial sheep.
I seek the truth, high and low, end to end,
but find my self locked in a dungeon-like keep.

Inside my mind at a Quarter to Three,
What do they see? What can this be?

Inside my madness I see rather clear,
for there are no answers to questions I raise.
I can face up to the depths of my fear,
You haven’t the answers from inside this maze.

Inside my mind at a Quarter to Three,
What can this be? What do you see?

I am in search of contentment and peace,
in these may I find my deepest hope.
Without you I’m certain the nightmares will cease,
and I will learn in my own time to cope.

Inside my mind at a Quarter to Three,
Can you see me? Here I am, soaring free!

– MJ Blehart
July 19, 1998

A Hallmark™ Card Rejection Letter

Dear Love,
Do not take these thoughts to heart,
It is now for us time to part.

I did not mean to cause you pain,
I fear I am not able to explain.

I know you love me, that is most fair,
though I lack of emotions, but I want to care.

From the past, to the now,
I want to love you, that I vow.

But I know not how to feel love,
and my prayers are not answered from above.

So take this letter to your heart,
and go on out, try a new start.

Find a man who can love you as I cannot.
A man capable of providing what I haven’t got.

Perhaps someday I’ll have that ability,
but for now am reduced to this humility.

Find yourself love, and make it work.
I pray for you, like me, he’s not a jerk.

– MJ Blehart
December 10, 1998

Chrysalis of the Creative Being

Opening the door in the mind of the child,
The chrysalis begins.
Creativity awakens.
Colors grow brighter.
Sounds become more distinct.
Clouds take shape and form and animation.
The mind of the child glows with the light.
Precious gift, song of the Muses.
Faeries dance and sing and rejoice in the minds’ eye.
The emergence begins.
The child grows.
Inspiration. Perception. New ideas.
Thoughts unlike any before become clear.
Do not interfere. Never discourage.
Encourage them. Do not push, do not prod.
Let the caterpillar become a butterfly.
Let the innocent child emerge the creative adult.
Chrysalis of spirit. Light and peace.
Free the mind, let in joy and light and magic.
Free the world.

– MJ Blehart
March 26, 1999

For Honor, A Challenge is Met

For the honor of my family name,
For the love of my lady fair,
For the glory the comes of noble fame,
I enter the villain’s lair.

A challenge I issue, for the insult made.
He answers with a snicker, and a haughty glare.
Dueling hath our city fathers forbade,
I still make the challenge, for I do not care.

To the courtyard we go, beneath the sunny sky.
His friends and allies follow, as do mine.
A duel with rapiers, where one shall live, and one die.
Tonight shall only one have leisure to dine.

I draw out my rapier, trusty blade of mighty steel.
He answers in kind, and stands ready, no chance he shall yield.
Our weapons clash, we fight with vigor and zeal.
Up and down, back and forth, thrust dodge and parry across the field.

We continue to fight, he is too close, I step to the side.
His blade makes a cut, barely missing my eye.
“Dear foe!” I cry, “I shall take that out of your hide!”
He throws back his head, with laughter to the sky.

The fight grows more fierce, as blood runs down my cheek.
We both grow tired, as we are two expert swordsmen, equally skilled.
We thrust and we parry, one shall soon lose as we each grow weak.
But today is my day, as with a final thrust of my blade, my foe is killed.

With a gasp, and a shudder, the villain stumbles, and is dead.
I sink to my knees, for the fight, finally finished, has done me in.
With a prayer to god, I raise my bloodied blade and touch my forehead.
It is finished, it is over, a new life I can now, at last, begin.

– MJ Blehart
September 20, 1999

To stand in the center of the Crossroads

I stand at the center of the crossroads.
Roads come and go, fade in and out, in every direction.
Fate pulled me along, and left me here, where I must make choices.
The Crossroads.
There is no single path. I have no direction.
There are many paths. I can choose any direction.
I stand in the center of the compass rose, all directions before me.
A path to hope. A path to despair. A path to love. A path to hate.
A path north. A path south. A path up. A path down.
A path I cannot see down at all.
I cannot simply stand at the crossroads forever. A choice must be made.
A path or paths must be chosen. Some weave about one another.
There is no turning back. I can only go forward.
On some paths I must walk alone.
On some I walk with my soul-mate.
On some I walk with my friends.
I cannot remain at the crossroads forever.
How did I get here?
Fate can only take you so far. Eventually, you reach the crossroads.
Time to choose. Time to pick a path along which to travel.
I must remember that any path I choose I need not travel always.
I can choose more than one. I can leap between them, from time to time.
I will choose to continue my adventure, my life. My life, my adventure.
Until I reach the crossroads again.

– MJ Blehart
March 27, 2001


Orange, Red, Yellow and Brown,
The leaves upon the ground.
Like the earth herself wears a colorful gown,
Autumn has come around.

The Fall has its own certain smell,
rich and smoky, leafy and damp.
The seasons change so all can tell,
dark comes earlier, need to turn on a lamp.

Both a good and bad time of year.
A season that speaks mostly of ending.
Winter comes next, less color and cheer,
biting cold and frost will Gaia be sending.

While this may be an end, its filled with beauty.
Colors abound over the months of fall.
Nice to take a drive, discard any duty.
The world seems to have a louder call.

Schools are on and the days are short.
Nights get both longer and colder.
A good time of year to clean and sort.
Let the change of season make one get bolder.

– MJ Blehart
November 3, 2003

Poetic Injustice to unblock a blocked writer

Here I sit, staring at the screen.
How many stories have I got in the works?
I am beginning to get a little mean.
For some reason I feel like an illiterate jerk.
I want to be writing, I have had all day!
I think I have over a dozen stories in various states of being worked on.
I should have plenty of things to say.
But still I can’t stay focused, and I am distracted like some kind of moron.
C’mon, Mur, don’t turn to bad poetry when nothing else comes!
You have so many damned ideas, so many stories to tell.
Stop doing all the equivalents of twiddling your thumbs,
So what if the finished piece has yet to sell?
You have been writing since before you were even a teen.
Fantasy, sci-fi, adventures great and small, unique characters and places.
So stop loafing, force yourself to write up some kind of scene.
With all of your options, you have your choice of genres and faces.
Why does it feel so often like no matter what I do, I will fail?
I have no career, I bounce from job to job.
I even spent time in the fall working on my own sordid tale.
Almost makes me want to give in and sob.
Enough of this complaint, I’m reduced to writing poetic tripe.
And then, just to feel like its work, I am trying to rhyme it.
Well at least this is forcing me to sit here and type.
Kind of a pity it looks a lot to me like it’s nothing but shit.

– MJ Blehart
April 24, 2007

Meditation in Sunlight

I bathe in the sunlight.
Quietly I sit, alone in the sun.
But I am not truly alone.
People are all about me, but I wonder if they notice me.
Do you see me, sitting here, quietly, observing nothing and everything?
I am a student of the human condition.
I watch. I listen. I feel. I observe.
They move about me in their lives, taking a moment to enjoy the sun in their own way.
Winter is over. Spring is at hand. But days like this are still too rare.
I am letting the glare of the sun blind me as I work here. It feels good.
Recharging. My solar batteries need sunlight. I am solar powered.
The air is still warm. The afternoon is nearly over, but it remains bright yet.
Men and women and children move about me in their own ways. Am I invisible?
I would choose to be this day. Bathing in the sun, unseen.
Observing but unobserved.
The ducks and geese see me. But that’s part of their nature.
Invisible to the world of man, I can contemplate my place.
Question who I am.
Bathing in the sun, feeling its warmth.
I want to be warmed by it more.
I am an observer. I see you all, I study you. I contemplate you.
Do you see me here? Am I invisible, or do you notice me?
The breeze is pleasant. This is a good place to be this day.
I am not invisible. I know. But you leave me in peace.
I see nothing. I see everything. I feel nothing. I feel everything.
I hear nothing. I hear all. I am no more but certainly no less than any of you.
Scattered thoughts. Wandering mind. Questing. Observing.
I bathe in the rays of the sun. And in this moment, in this place.
I know everything.
Knowing everything, I know I know nothing.
Good. More to learn.

– MJ Blehart
April 5, 2009