Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Their place

Their Place

A thousand years have past and I gasp
at the work of the last; those of whom we choose not to see,
It is because of them that nature does not bend.
They reside it the Irish meadow of the stone.
where their homes of centuries old were honed.

We see mother nature's hands hold strong,
the mount so there may be no wrong.
They heed to us as we push through the brush without a care,
trampling the places were no human has ever set foot.
watch for the root with your careless hoof.

They watch us pass and then they laugh,
because they know we wish for them so, so as we go
there is not a care in our head when we lay down and bed.
It is then they do their work without slumber
far to many in number, more than the stars at night.

So we continue on and leave the hidden people behind,
with a picture in my head of the new, not the dead.
There where the fern and sapling rise from under the bed, 
of the workshop of the few that remain, to gain a future
for the world to see, in the next century.

by Bryan Bennington

Sunday Night in Columbus

Hockey Night

Silence dances around the rings,
As the silver blades sing.
The thunder of the wave rises,
Leo graces us with song disguises.

The clash of arms at hand;
The glass and boards can stand.
As the wheeling suspect thrashes,
Past the net and lashes.

The voices are loud and bold.
How does the troll keep his hold?
As the enemy scolds his rim,
With a barrage of lethal hymns.

Now everyone takes heed
As the smallest of them bleeds.
A five gun salute stresses,
How the one on one blesses.

A night of drama and flashes
Now ends with laughter and glasses.
The better of the two withstand,
And win with bent stick in hand.

By Bryan Bennington

Thursday, November 29, 2012

The Perfect Kiss

The Perfect Kiss
 The soft touch of your lips
 Calls to me as our worlds become one
 And our souls collide in conversation of
 Whispered feelings that light up
 The flame of welcome desire
 Can be seen in our eyes
 As we plan our escape
 From the present into a place
 That we share in our hearts
 That beat rhythmically with the pulse
 Of the music playing softly
 In the background of our minds
 That store thoughts of our evening
 In hopes it will never end
 Without the soft touch of your lips.

 By Bryan Bennington

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Pine Lane

Pine Lane


Follow the brick road up the hill.

It’s a path I choose to take by will.

As it narrows, this path I follow,

Will lead me to a tranquil hollow.


A twist and turn takes me to,

Mr Squirrel who says hello how do you do?

Blue blazes hide from camouflaging skies.

Like skeletons the tree trunks rise.


The hawk flies above telling his tail,

As wires cross the sky to reveal his cell.

The nuthatch & woodpecker keep me company,

While my staff holds my hand confidently.


Pines surround me and through the earth,

Arms reach up to steal my birth.

I watch my step, not allowing them to savor,

Avoiding their hands and returning the favor.


Down the hill the silence comes,

A defining note that the forest hums.

A deer passes by and I keep his pace.

Eye to eye I stride till he wins the race.


Through the hut of fallen vine,

A home in Walden should be so fine.

In the summer I am sure it provides,

A slumber for the wolf within its ivies.


Alas, I’ve come to the end

Humans stop me and question.

I turn to take the road back home

And at the fork I am not alone.


My friends on Pine Trail whisper to me,

Keep us company and you will see,

The faces of the trees on your way back

And the peace that you seek will not lack.


Now the forest is the tamer and I am the shrew

The path has changed due to the hue.

Trying not to get lost in this bewildering sight

I listen to her whisper as day turns to night.


Finding my way through valley and hillside

With a kinder heart for those who reside.

Back on the trail where the deer darted

The blue blazes brought me to the brick road where I started.


By Bryan Bennington


Season One



The sun shines brightly,

Though death lies in its rays.

As life is renewed

To those who have paid.


The cardinal sings a song

That awakens the dead.

While the frost blankets birth

As the weed bears its head.


The skeletons wail,

Their life long been borrowed.

As their seed hails

The awaking hour.


Luminous the day grows,

The timeless scene unveiled

As the witness of the ageless past

Reminds us that life won’t last.


In an instant the stars rush bye

The smells of death wave and sigh.

The life of new, the canvas shows

Is the power of he who knows.


That in this time of grey and shower,

Life’s precious price is paid tomorrow.


By Bryan Bennington

In Memory



As loving as a child

Full of peace and kindness

Unconditional giving without taking

Beautiful and full of life

Always in the presents of God


As beautiful as a snow fall

A winter day dressed in white

The glistening branches

Like jewels on a forest

Inviting the sun to share its splendor


As caring as a mother

Giving her soul to her children

A smile that shines brightly

And lights up the room

Inviting, giving, sharing, never ending


As wonderful as a women

A companion for life

Through good times and bad

Organized, caressing, listening, cooking

Proud to be by his side, without a regret


As giving as a friend

Willing to sacrifice everything

Teaching, laughing, always asking

Comforting on the saddest days

Illuminating happiness the next


As perfect as a sunset

Peaceful and wonderful

Knowledge that all was fulfilled

Laying to rest on the horizon

Waiting to show its face once more



Daughter, wife, mother, and friend

To know her was to love her

You will never be forgotten

With love till we meet again


By Bryan Bennington

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Choose a Path

As men we need nothing,

But society believes us to need everything.

At Walden, a man needs nothing more than his own skin.

But not the citizen in public, who finds himself naked like Adam.

It is he, who has his eyes opened to society,

And blisters himself to hide in home and clothing too substantial.


Count your possessions, and tally your expenses,

Then decide which ones are necessary and which are mere waste.

Would your nakedness be hidden,

If you never acquired as much in the first place?