The value of Worth

The Values of Worth
*****************
BY: Keith H. Seymour
*******************
Don’t kick me… when I’m down.
for even… the most subservient of creatures
will use its last foreseeable breath to maintain
the remainder of its
Self-worth and Dignity.
Likewise, I am willing to lose everything
Except for my dignity. I will never give up
the thing that makes me… special and unique.

So, in spite of what you or others may believe
I am still a talented person of importance and worth.
So, though you may see me as, or make me an outcast
You cannot bring me down.
For, even if you bleed my heart or bruise my soul,
I know I am a person of value and worth!

I may even have less material value than you.
Yes! That may certainly be true!
However, unlike me
You are known not to have
one iota of the honesty value attached to you!
Therefore, while I may certainly have less than you…
I am certainly not less of a human than you.
Rather,
I am more!

Standing Still

STANDING STILL

**************** By Keith H. Seymour
******************
Why do I stand here,
remaining in the same place?
Even though I move,
I never seem to leave
this spot..this place

If remaining does not work.. I leave.
If leaving does not work...I stay.
I travel... inside the box, outside the box.
And everywhere else in between.
I continually travel to and through
every geometrical, geographical,
physiological area variable.
As well as...my own spirit-uality.<

I am consistently,
the confused traveler...permanent resident.
I just wish I knew
why I constantly move... and yet
I am always here...standing still

Even though I obviously
catch up with and often times... surpass
the others,
their lives move forward while mine a

The definition of insanity:
“Doing the same thing,
even though the method is proven not to work.”
So after discoveringwhat does not work for me,
and discovering what does work,
Why does it not work for... me?
Why do I go insane
trying to figure out the reason
I remain... in the same place?
Why do I always find myself and my life
standing still?

Un-Rest

Un-Rest
********
By Keith H. Seymour
********************
A peace of the world,
And therefore,
A piece of me…
is rudely awakened by
anger, greed, fear, and ignorance.
Causing… individual and universal conflict.
For a piece disturbed is a peace no more.
Especially since…
Well, my world is so troubled
That it so often claims to fight for a peace
So universally and mutually humane.”
Yet with itself… it seems to be
Constantly
at War.

Covert Conversion

Covert Conversion
*************** BY: Keith H. Seymour
*******************
You changed me.
No, I mean it. You changed me.
I am not sure
Whether it was intentional or not.
At least, at the time
it didn’t seem that way.
I certainly did not ask you to change me.
I was just fine as I was, anyway.
You said so your yourself.
Even when we argued you said I was
an adequate person. Sometimes… a bit more.
Still... some how without my knowledge
You changed me.
You changed me,
And when we parted
I thought… even told you
You’d be happy, or maybe you just didn’t care.
Even your denial of this statement
seemed… extremely insincere.
Now, others correspond that you miss me.
Well, What right do you have to exercise
this prerogative?
I acknowledge that as a woman
You might have the right to change your mind.
You had no right however,
to change me.
Such an improvement would not normally bother me.
Except, I believe you enjoy the fact
That you knew of my sudden metamorphosis
long before I did.
I resent your change… your improvement of me.
I resent that I am here,
and you are still there.

The Old Woman
BY: Keith H. Seymour
She possesses the grace and beauty
that creates a sense of peace.
Her eternal uniqueness
comes from
vitality and inner-strength
that never does cease.
Her beauty
is so often painfully serene.
It is a beauty
which is worshipped
by mere mortals
and each celestial being.
The face of this old woman
tells of our futures,
and even where we’ve been.

Her eyes
still sparkle like …
the rarest gem, the shiniest ore.
Life’s teachings
have been chisled lines upon her face,
as if she were…
a statue of a goddess
from ancient greek lore.
Though many of these lines
were created by the architects of worry and fear,
her presence and beauty
still selflessly served others,
providing all who know her
their most precious of years.

She is the oldest of women.
She is known by residents of earth
and residents above.
She is the most beautiful of all women.
The one known as
LOVE.

beginning new book

Sunday, June 19, 2009: Today.I decided that I needed to write about the obsta

lces of dealing with epilpsy. It is going to be one f the hardest things I will ever do, because in spite of the name of this blogsite, there will be nothng creative about the facts in this book.

Still, maybe somebody can learn from my experiences, and how I have turned them and contiue to tutrn them into positive (yet difficult lessons.") The problem is obviousely not wrting about overcoming the obsticles, or even that it will in many cases bring up issues that will put me in a less than positive light, but through documented facts will put not only alot of powerful people within the south carolina school district (and family members in a positve light, it will also put alot of people in these same catagories ina negative light, and this could cost me friends,and increase what are alreayd stressful relationships among some family members.

Still, I have heard about and seen too many others go through what I ahve gone through to keep quiet, and if I do not stand up for what I believe in, and my standards of truth because I am afraid of disapproval, when not doing so could hurt others,what does that say about me?

I could write it as fiction, but what good would that do? If it got published I would only be asked at some point where I got the idea, and if it came from my life? I then would have to tell the truth. Maybe writing the manuscript annd deciding whther or no to submit it later, would be best.

UN-I-DENTIFIED

UN-I-DENTIFIED
*****************
BY: Keith H. Seymour
************************
I enter a seemingly familiar room… or place
even a function to which… I have been invited,
or of which they have made me…
A part.
And though the people there seen to notice me…
They really don’t.

They say hello
and ask about my health…
Always asking about… some person or acquaintance
we currently know, or at least… we once mutually knew.
Their words and expressions
that flow with continuous consistency
seem to indicate
some sort of acknowledgement of me.

Yet, the tone in their voices
and their eyes… Oh their blank eyes…
They all say something else.
I would not say it is like… I’m invisible.
It is more that… Even though I know
I am there, to everyone else
I don’t really exist
and to them I never
Really did.

Thw Unexpected and unexplained Gift

THE UNEXPECTED AND UNEXPLAINED GIFT
************************************************************
Why was I given this Unexpected Gift
of experiencing these ancient islands
and this beautiful blue-grey sea,
that flows into some ... beautiful Philippine bay?
Included in this aesthetic experience,
I notice that there are
flowing above this floating sea,
clouds of pure white mixed with some distant... forlorn grey.
When combined with...
A beautiful but disappearing sunset horizon,
they seem to successfully and aesthetically create
a forefront and backdrop that so easily labours together.
A simple but beautiful labor created and perpetuated
so that my eyes... and my soul may be fortunate enough
to... partake of this loudly serene... Asian Sea.

Oh how I long to be part of those distant islands
that now seem almost hidden
among some mystical haze.
These sights, these feelings...they are my privilege.
They are an undeserved gift given by some unseen being,
that is of some higher and far more exalted existence
than I.

For, surely no mere mortal
could possibly own or freely obtain
such a right, as to partake of
such a perfectly created beauty.
A beauty that is normally reserved
for
those residing in...
a more celestial place.
What type of being
would bother to create
for this earthly domain such beauty and grace?













THE UNEXPECTED AND UNEXPLAINED GIFT
************************************************************

What anonymous benefactor
would extend
such an extravagance to mere mortals-like me?
This unseen benefactor asks nothing
material value from me.
No monetary promissory note of debt
is or will be accepted from me.
The only collateral that I am required to give,
is to truly and honestly
Respect, Honor, Care for, and enjoy
"these" most glorious women-
these beautiful Philippine Islands,
and this glorious... Asian Sea.
I will always treasure
this
unexpected and unexplained gift
That has been so lovingly, freely, and graciously
given
to me.

Serenity

Serenity
********
I sat beside the ocean,
and looked upon a place
of God’s creation that is…
So “perfectly” glorious to me!
A wonderful- the sunset ocean.
A calming image
of solid sandy specks of land,
and an exciting fluid mass of water,
Uniting,
In a marriage of
Serenity.

As the colours of dusk shone upon
the new grayish ocean,
I know that their warmth
benefitted all of the sea’s inhabitant’s.
It was just then that I noticed:
The stillness of the land…
The silent ripple of the now peaceful sea.
Causing me to believe:
“that God had stopped time
Just for me.”

As the sun and light
later began to completely fall,
the quietness of the ocean’s being
spoke volumes to my spirit.
A spirit that…overflows
as I am permitted to humbly adore
the grace and beauty
of the most
glorious, exciting, and mysterious female of all.

I will always love my ocean,
and she will always be precious to me.
Whether blue by day,
or deep black by night.
Whether she is brightened by the sun,
or a host of stars
her beauty will always be
“My very own”
Serenity.

Keith H.Seymour, is a freelance writer, poet, journalist . media consultant, current living in Columbia, South carolina. he is available for poetry readings, classes, (including tutoring), and classroom appearances. If interested in finding out more, he may be conacted at 803-960-875 (cell phone) or at keithhseymour@bellsouth.net

Long Distance Love

Long Distance Love
*****************

BY: Keith H. Seymour
*********************
You are here…
I am there.
Our physical senses are unable to perceive
The existence of one another.
Yet, somehow…
Our hearts and souls
Concurrently and consistently
Do.

The words we have written
Have never been expressed by our lips.
Yet, though separated by land masses and ocean depths
The selfless passions we have for one another
Never seem unable to overcome these barriers

Still, these facts… make it no less painful to me,
To know
That we must impatiently wait
To join our lives,
So they may from then on match
Our already conjoined… souls and hearts.

High School Daze

High School Daze
***************
BY: Keith H. Seymour
*******************

I walked past the old high school the other day,
and thought of you.
Not the high school where we met…
But the one on the other side of town,
That you transferred to a year later
After
Your father got a job
As music minister at the church, next to the school
That I walked past… the other day.

As I walked past the high school
The other day, I remembered… our first date,
and how
as I looked into your brown eyes
you told me
the difference between a French horn, and a tuba.
I think that was because
I thought I could impress you by pointing out
The presence of a tuba that hung upon the restaurant
wall.
I was wrong.
It was a French horn.

I even remember what happened that summer day
that you came to my house to go swimming.
We went swimming.
And afterwards… I shyly told you
how much I adored your… freckles,
as I presented you with your favorite flowers-pink roses.
However, you replied that
we should just remain good friends.
While remembering that day,
I recalled your favorite perfume-“Misty Tea Rose.”
Although, the memory of its scent
Unfortunately eluded me.

What I did remember at the time, though
was that even then …
I knew that my feelings of love for you were real.
I knew this because,
that day I silently forgave you for breaking my heart.
Besides,
why else would I have sacrificed blood, And risked death
by raiding my mother’s “precious flower garden,”
for… a couple of stupid flowers-except for true love.
So thanks, thanks for the memory.

So, I hear that you’re an English teacher now.
Could it be true, that just as I once did,
some “other” high school boy
has now fallen in love
with you?

Anyway, I walked past the old high school the other day,
and wondered ,as I now often do.
I wondered… whether the sun still gave you those freckles.
And if you still loved pink roses, and a perfume
of Rose and Misty Tea.
But most importantly,
I wondered ...if you
ever thought about,
or even remembered... me.
As I walked past the high school...the other day.














High School Daze
***************
BY: Keith H. Seymour
*******************

I walked past the old high school the other day,
and thought of you.
Not the high school where we met…
But the one on the other side of town,
That you transferred to a year later
After
Your father got a job
As music minister at the church, next to the school
That I walked past… the other day.

As I walked past the high school
The other day, I remembered… our first date,
and how
as I looked into your brown eyes
you told me
the difference between a French horn, and a tuba.
I think that was because
I thought I could impress you by pointing out
The presence of a tuba that hung upon the restaurant
wall.
I was wrong.
It was a French horn.

I even remember what happened that summer day
that you came to my house to go swimming.
We went swimming.
And afterwards… I shyly told you
how much I adored your… freckles,
as I presented you with your favorite flowers-pink roses.
However, you replied that
we should just remain good friends.
While remembering that day,
I recalled your favorite perfume-“Misty Tea Rose.”
Although, the memory of its scent
Unfortunately eluded me.

What I did remember at the time, though
was that even then …
I knew that my feelings of love for you were real.
I knew this because,
that day I silently forgave you for breaking my heart.
Besides,
why else would I have sacrificed blood, And risked death
by raiding my mother’s “precious flower garden,”
for… a couple of stupid flowers-except for true love.
So thanks, thanks for the memory.

So, I hear that you’re an English teacher now.
Could it be true, that just as I once did,
some “other” high school boy
has now fallen in love
with you?

Anyway, I walked past the old high school the other day,
and wondered ,as I now often do.
I wondered… whether the sun still gave you those freckles.
And if you still loved pink roses, and a perfume
of Rose and Misty Tea.
But most importantly,
I wondered ...if you
ever thought about,
or even remembered... me.
As I walked past the high school...the other day.














High School Daze
***************
BY: Keith H. Seymour
*******************

I walked past the old high school the other day,
and thought of you.
Not the high school where we met…
But the one on the other side of town,
That you transferred to a year later
After
Your father got a job
As music minister at the church, next to the school
That I walked past… the other day.

As I walked past the high school
The other day, I remembered… our first date,
and how
as I looked into your brown eyes
you told me
the difference between a French horn, and a tuba.
I think that was because
I thought I could impress you by pointing out
The presence of a tuba that hung upon the restaurant
wall.
I was wrong.
It was a French horn.

I even remember what happened that summer day
that you came to my house to go swimming.
We went swimming.
And afterwards… I shyly told you
how much I adored your… freckles,
as I presented you with your favorite flowers-pink roses.
However, you replied that
we should just remain good friends.
While remembering that day,
I recalled your favorite perfume-“Misty Tea Rose.”
Although, the memory of its scent
Unfortunately eluded me.

What I did remember at the time, though
was that even then …
I knew that my feelings of love for you were real.
I knew this because,
that day I silently forgave you for breaking my heart.
Besides,
why else would I have sacrificed blood, And risked death
by raiding my mother’s “precious flower garden,”
for… a couple of stupid flowers-except for true love.
So thanks, thanks for the memory.

So, I hear that you’re an English teacher now.
Could it be true, that just as I once did,
some “other” high school boy
has now fallen in love
with you?

Anyway, I walked past the old high school the other day,
and wondered ,as I now often do.
I wondered… whether the sun still gave you those freckles.
And if you still loved pink roses, and a perfume
of Rose and Misty Tea.
But most importantly,
I wondered ...if you
ever thought about,
or even remembered... me.
As I walked past the high school...the other day.



Keith H. Seymour is a freelance writer, poet, media consultan currently living in Columbia, South carolina. He is available for poetry readings, appearances at schools, workshops, and tutoring. He may be reached at 803-960-8785 or at keithhseymour@Bellsouth.net

The Gardner and the Blossom

The Gardner and the Blossom
************************
BY: Keith H. Seymour
*******************
Writer's note: This poem is dedicated to my mother Particia Ann Seymour( Nee' Bollig)
(Aug 12,2008)
It was just recently, that…
I saw the white azaleas outside,
And thought of…
How dried and dead they looked.
So often like my own life,
Since she left me.
It happened following her special day.
It was almost a year ago,
That I last saw the azaleas outside.

Even alive and mixed
With others of red and pink,
And flowers of marigold,
I would not have been satisfied
When I had seen…
The white azaleas outside.

No gardener could adopt or love
Any flower,
The way that she adopted this flower
With her mixture of love, discipline and affection.
Just as she had done with those
That sprang and blossomed
From her own natural seed.
I recalled how much I missed
Her nurturing element,
When…
I saw the white azaleas outside,

The perfect gardener has ceased to exist,
Still, the spirit that she created
Within this cross-bred blossom
Will always persist.
So I know I see,
The white azaleas…inside
Of me.

The Familiar Stranger

The Familiar Stranger
*****************************
I met a stranger recently,
his presence...
hard to ignore
I recognized this stranger,
as if we'd met before.
I recognized his features:
his face, his form,
and even the way he wore his hair.
Yet, as to our specific meeting,
I recalled not when or where!

So I decided I'd been mistaken,
or our acquaintance was long ago.
Also concluding,
surely this individual
was too unimportant
Even for me to ever know.

He appeared again late
and it really bothered
that this seemingly trivial person
was once ever known to me!?
Who was this person
whose image within my mind
was embedded so very deep?
Who was this individual
constantly haunting my waking hours,
and so often times... My sleep!

My Answer?
I decided that if we had met before,
acknowledging ambitions and obligations
was the far more important chore.
So finally, I told him,
"Look later I'll deal with you.
Right now I have more important people to patronize,
and far more important things to do!"
So we he continued to bother me,
I had not the slightest clue

Then, after his appearances persisted
over a period of...
well, some great length,
I suddenly recognized... his enviable characteristics
of serenity, confidence, and deep inner-strength.

It was only then
that this familiar stranger
chose to reveal himself to me.
Stating: Aren’t you yet aware?
I am no stranger that you see.
Rather, I am...
what we now know as
that self-neglected part of...
ME."

Keith H. seymour is a freelance Writer, poet and media consultant, currently living in Columbia, S.C. He is available for poetry readings, tutoring, speaking engagements at schools, and consultations with fellow writers and artists. He may be reached at 803-960-8785 or keithhseymour@bellsouth.net

Bahala na

Bahala Na
**********
By Keith H. Seymour
******************
Writer’s note: Bahala Na is a Filipino phrase that means “Come What May,” or “What ever God wishes for this time. It is roughly equal to the Spanish Phrase: “Que sera sera.”

Everything is copy written under my name.

Why couldn’t I tell you...
What others tried to tell me?
Why didn’t I know?
Or rather,
Why was I afraid to know… intellectually?
Though, I guess saying anything now,
Won’t matter… It is just too late.
Yet saying what I feel… is something that I must now do.

I thought time and distance
(But I was wrong)
would help me to forget
about my lack of courage… concerning a matter of the heart.
After all, didn’t you have the right to know…
and respond?
Even if you did reject me?
Then again, after all of this time
Do I have the right to let you know?
All I only know
Is that something in me impels me to confess all of this…
to you.

I know your heart has been given to someone else,
and Still, I have no regrets of knowing you as a friend.
I hope that even in the unfortunate happenstance
That we never meet again; you will still feel the same.
So please always know, that each day
I pray you experience eternal health, happiness, romance, and love.
As for any romance that may exist for me?
Well… Bahala Na.

Keith H. Seymour is a local freelance writer and poet. He may be reached at 803-233-9622, or E-mailed at keithhseymour@bellsouth.net or keithhseymour@bellsouth.net

Poetry and Short Stories of Keith H. Seymour, and associated news