Creative Writing by Robert Stanhope - ROBERT STANHOPE

ROBERT STANHOPE

When Giants Cry

8/28/2024

When giants cry, the world will know,
As rivers surge and valleys grow,
Their icy hearts, once cold and still,
Now melt away by nature’s will.

The ancient bones of frozen time,
In mournful tears, begin to climb,
From mountain peaks to ocean’s shore,
A solemn tale of what they bore.

With every drop, a whispered woe,
Of ages past, of ice and snow,
They crumble slow, yet we ignore,
The giants' grief, their final roar.

The glaciers weep, their tears set free,
To flood the lands, to swell the sea,
Yet in their cry, a plea remains,
To heed the call, to break the chains.

For when the giants weep and wane,
The earth will tremble with their pain,
And in their tears, the truth will lie,
Of what is lost when giants cry.

My Heart Will Sing

7/23/2024

Political banners, colors bright,
Wave in anger, left and right,
Debate and discord fill the air,
Power's game, a ceaseless snare.

Yet here I am, beneath the trees,
Where whispers float on summer's breeze,
Away from tumult, sweet release,
I wander fields where wildflowers grow,
In nature’s arms, a gentle flow.

The world’s a storm, but I remain,
In my own world, apart from pain,
I find my solace, find my way,
In simple moments, day by day.

Let them argue, let them fight,
In their chaos, I take flight,
Churches bicker, parties rage,
Their endless wars, a troubled stage.

But I find peace in quiet streams,
In twilight’s glow, and moonlit dreams,
While doctrines war and leaders vie,
Beneath the vast and open sky.

Let them fight their righteous wars,
I’ll walk my path, through open doors,
In simple joys, my heart will sing,
Content to do my own small thing.

Bald man sitting by a stream in the mountains.

Textures

7/9/2024

By Robert Stanhope

Hands touch soft and rough,
Velvet whispers to the skin,
Sandpaper's tough love.

Cotton balls so light,
Brushing cheeks with gentle warmth,
Softness feels just right.

Fingertips explore,
Silken threads like water flow,
Smooth and cool for sure.

Tree bark, coarse and firm,
Nature's rugged embrace holds,
Strength within its form.

Textures tell their tales,
Each a world to be explored,
Autistic child roams.

Photo by Gisela Merkuur

Ferris Wheel

10/9/2023

By Robert Stanhope

A day at the fair,
a day away from my office chair,
the aroma of fried food in the air,
rides left, right, and everywhere,

The bumper cars and the Tilt-a-Whirl,
my head spins like a squirrel
when I see the Merry-go-round, a fair pearl,
but it's the Ferris wheel I want to ride with my girl,

Spinning round and round and round,
the crown jewel of fair days is found,
from our seat up high we can see all around,
as we sit close and celebrate the love we found,

Through years, we've shared many fair days,
looking back and above as we stargaze,
recalling days gone by sure does amaze,
now we have grandkids that enjoy fair days.

Ferris wheel

Ferris wheel photo captured at the Manatee County Fair in Palmetto, Florida by Robert Stanhope

As Long As There Is Light

8/22/2023

By Robert Stanhope

On a journey at sea
I was searching for me,

Staring into the fog
I heard a monologue,

My voice expressing the words
to trust in self, let down my guard,

"As long as there is light,
You will have the will to fight.

As long as there is light,
You will never have darkness through night,

As long as there is light,
You will find alternatives to finite."

Fog at Sea by Photography by Robert Stanhope

A foggy sea photo I captured on a cruise to Alaska.

In Search of Fortune

8/21/2023

In days long past, when dreams took flight,
In Alaska's heart, a land of might,
A tale was etched, a fevered rush,
For gold that gleamed in Dead Horse's hush.

The promise whispered in every breeze,
Fortunes vast among ancient trees,
Prospectors came, their hearts ablaze,
Seeking riches in myriad ways.

Through rugged trails and icy streams,
They chased the sun's elusive beams,
Pick and shovel, hope in hand,
They carved their fate in this wild land.

Dead Horse Gulch, a treacherous gorge,
Where dreams met fate, a fatal forge,
A bridge of faith, a span so frail,
Collapsed beneath ambitions' sail.

Into the abyss, dreams were lost,
Fortunes vanished, an icy cost,
The bridge gave way, a heart's lament,
As prospectors' dreams downward went.

Yet, beyond the gulch, the world moved on,
Echoes of loss through time were drawn,
Fortunes scattered, hopes adrift,
In the shadows of dreams, souls sift.

For not all gold is metal's gleam,
It's in the journey, the hopeful dream,
In tales we tell of lessons learned,
In hearts that blaze, undeterred.

Alaskan gold rush, a chapter bold,
With stories of riches and bridges old,
Though Dead Horse Gulch holds secrets deep,
In its memory, life's treasures keep.

So let us remember those who fell,
In pursuit of dreams, a daring spell,
And honor the spirits who still roam,
In search of fortune, a heart's true home.

Steel Cantilever Bridge - White Pass, Alaska

Steel Cantilever Bridge, White Pass, Alaska

Lost One

4/27/2023

By Robert Stanhope

I am the lost one,
On a journey to find me,
Footprints are my past.

Photo by Robert Stanhope

Photo by Robert Stanhope
Location: Hardee Lakes County Park, Bowling Green, Florida

Who Do You See?

4/25/2023

Time in Motion by Robert Stanhope

By Robert Stanhope

Look at me, look at me,
Who do you see? Who do you see?

A youthful man or a wise gent,
Both live in my bathroom mirror,

Time would like to disagree,
Time sees the future clearly,

My hours and hours all spent,
Minutes and seconds flurry,

Time used to be consistent,
Today the clock is warped,

Hands wave for my attention,
Time tick-tocks like a bomb,

Will I defuse my demise
Before ashes fall from clouds,

Look at me, look at me,
A memory, a memory.

I Have a Short

12/10/2022

By Robert Stanhope

With more frequency,
as the days grow brief,
I'm convinced my mind
has a short or two,
I think my wires are crossed
transmitting my actions,
and my reactions,
to lifelong habits,

"What was I going to do?"
"What was I going to say?"
"Where was I going?"

I try to retrace my steps
as they fade with a blur,
I have a seat and concentrate,
yet I'm lost in vacant thoughts,

"What have I forgotten?"
"What am I repeating?"
"Where am I?"

I bought a journal,
I take notes,
reminders when
I have a short.

A Song Gone Wrong

8/18/2022

By Robert Stanhope

nickels and dimes
have no rhyme
when they jingle
in my pocket

it's the quarter
that brings the beat
to the tune

it's the dollar
that muffles
the spoons

a song is better than
empty pockets

a bad poem
never launched a rocket

Coins

Photo by Diana Caballero