Poetry by Eugene Plaud

My Homeless Friends 

These hobo leaves of autumn can escape my raking broom,
While I admire their mischief and their intent to hide away
As thieves behind the moon. I’ll chase until I catch them all
I’ll win this game once more. Before I know I’m finished
here they come and all in force As they came rolling in
before. 

They are reflections all approaching for a meek and humble thought.
If only we could ride it out instead of getting caught Beneath the
bleak and haunting cloak of one more season yet to be. I wish for
them the confidenting wind that carries me. 

Cast in separate roles becoming players all the same, For
every one without a face, a face without a name. Mingling
head to toe you slip to where I would have gone. I wish
the confidenting wind to carry us along. 

I’m a believer in making believers Of those who had
hope to those holdouts for more. Those chosen to come
out of love to belong To the sea of our dreams riding
currents of song. Who hold on to their hope when the
end of their rope Has escaped from their grasp and
they’re helplessly free. They have faith in one day, One
day after the next. And by God and His grace, with His
gifts, there I’ll be. 

Mirror on the near horizon have I come around? I know that
as the many wander there they will be found. I also know I
am accused, and then redeemed all in a breath. As leaves
fall from the tree in time There are often still leaves left. 

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I Wander Through the Garden 

I wander through the garden on my knees
believing I’ve a glimpse of Paradise. Sunbows
of colors caught with hues between a spectacle
of blooms uniquely rise. I’ve faceless stems so
innocent between who lend support by their
proximity, and culling these unknown ones I
must check occasionally to see no harm’s been
done. So easy it can be to catch a flower when
pulling out the weeds they lean upon. I’m so
careful to review the fallen chaff where knowns
and unknowns intertwine indeed. 

I’m told I was created in His image. That says,
then, “so like Him I’m bound to be.” So I should
not be taken by surprise if I find He’s a little bit
like me. If so, one final favor I will ask when the
second resurrection comes to be. I’ll thank you
just to leave me on my own and be pleased if you
don’t stand too close to me.

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​
The Gift 

Were the gift so given to see our
futures from afar to know the path
we chose back then would bring us
where we are. Would we have made
another choice knowing today, back
then? Given heed to the silent voice
coaxing from within? 

From what I know of choices,
from the chances that were mine,
I always picked what fit me best,
what suit me at the time. What
difference would it make had I
known this time, back then, but
for a miracle, as it’s said, to
​return to the start once again. 


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