A POEM IV

                  Dream State

I dreamed and dreamed again how to be,
         to see myself as others see.
                 But what then?
         Is the perception really me?

      Who would say, record it true,
      what I appear to those who see
        who it is that says and does
             that which is really me.

   Curious why I think it relevant at all.
  Still in thoughtful madness, I consider
what to say if like question were put to me.
      What, indeed, of another do I see?

         Of little consequence, perhaps,
   being the question likely never posed.
   Just as well, in truth, since all that cares
is seen, but real, only as known within thyself.

            By Richard Herren

    

A POEM III

           Untitled

        I've raced the race,
        both won and placed,
        and lost far back in time.

        I was there, but not,
        the reasons forgot,
        the record seems not mine.

        Though true I'm bred
        for the starting gate,
        run for the running sake,

        my want seems to gaze,
        with a penchant to chart
        what reason the running could make.

        Though few I've won,
        the bouquet to take,
        I think the thought and rhyme,

        though seems I'm bred
        for the starting gate,
        the purpose escapes my mind.

           By Richard Herren
      

A Poem II

                    THE GURU

         I climbed the hill
         To see the Guru
         And find what life's about.

         As I peaked the top
         And looked about
         A note said he was out.

         Since I'd climbed all day
         And was there anyway
         I thought to think a bit.

         I'd heard life's a river,
         But the question remained
         To swim or walk beside it.

         As I thought, I think
         I heard me say,
         Perhaps it a combination.

         The portion still puzzled
         So I searched my brain
         Hoping for some resolution.

         There must be some magic
         On top of this hill
         For I think I've the solution.

         You remember the pot
         Just under your bed,
         The one for the night's polution?

         When life is full
         Of deposits same,
         And it drives you out of bed.

         Dump it, dear fellow,
         Crap in the woods,
         And plant a flower instead.

          by Richard Herren
        
        

A Poem

             FROM THE SHORE

             Each swell and crest
             In vain to count
             I strain to see it all.

             From top to crest
             Seems all there is
             A portion yet so small.

             Though time nor thought
             For me will know
            The fullness of it more,

             I'm stilled to glimpse a dream
             And know the Sea is breathing
             As the waves roll into shore.

                  By Richard Herren