On Being Happy

Poem By Bob Blackwell

The sun has set on yet another day.
I am relaxed and at peace as,
I listen to the sounds of the night;
an owl’s mournful hoot,
the wind blowing,
the fire settling, and
the beautiful chords of a guitar,
playing my sort music.

The moon is crescent shaped,
on the horizon I see a fishing boat,
crew no doubt looking forward to
unload their catch and returning home.
A welcome glow awaits their arrival
from their small white homes on harbours edge.

The air is warm, the moon still rising,
the waves lap on the shore.
I feel at ease, rested, and
enjoying the company of myself.
I sigh, close my eyes,
and sink deeper in my chair.

Thoughts of experiences, incidents that shaped my life.
Happy events, sad times, pass through my mind.
Unsettled, I shake them off, I must not grasp.
I think of future plans, but mood is still affected.
I must not expect.
I take a deep breath, I slowly exhale
to return to present moments.

The moon rises higher,
it looks brighter and bigger,
its reflected light makes
obscure formations that
jump and ripple with incoming tide.

Flames from fire
dance and stretch ever upwards
to light the blackness of the night;
and the shadows formed,
make hurried patterns in the sand.

I hear, the buzz of the village
as it prepares for night,
the waves breaking on the shore,
the crew’s excited chatter
as they unload there fishy catch,
and in the distance, a roll of thunder.

I feel a slight breeze,
the warmth of fire,
the sand between my toes.
I smell: the sea, its salty air,
drives out the scent of smoke,
I taste the brine.

Catch unloaded, fishermen walk home.
I wonder what their evening has in store.
A happy time for all I hope.
For some there could be trouble,
an unhappy spouse, a child not well,
unwanted bill, emergency.

For others a smile, a kiss,
a welcome meal, a hug
family talk, school talk
happy talk,
a loving silence.

I reflect on how we cannot
search for happiness. How
we must know our own true self,
work with love
and live the right kind of life,
before happiness will come.

We must learn from our mistakes,
become aware of all around,
help others when we see a need.
We’ll then enjoy each precious
moment and live each one with joy.

My fire is a dying, embers do not glow,
means it is a time for me to end my reverie.
The village is quiet, streets are empty,
lights are going out, people are in bed.

As the evening moves to night,
I see the stars come out and
wonder at the vastness of it all.
The Milky Way so dense with stars,
makes our world seem very small.

I release my body from my chair,
collect my thoughts and things,
to close, to make an end.
Time to rest, to sleep, a time of
recovery for happy days ahead.

Comments about On Being Happy

BOB, This is a great reflective poem on thoughts about happiness! I liked the positive note with which it ends! 10! -Raj
very true we need not search for happiness...our true self is so full of it...man strives for sorrow...and he calls it development....a lovely thought in this whispering poem
Like many, I have a simple theory for happiness: finding it within myself. No formula. its always there. Time and circumstances change. Your happiness change with it. So far, so good. And then you get old. If you've learnt anything so far about happiness....it'll show...daily. Ability to live in dignity. And bouncing back... Importantly, happiness does not belong to the sages and superhumans. Its for all. Human foibles is a great dissolver of happinesss...... If you choose to live within the grasp of reality within your control....you are then in peace with yourself...... Cheers. Subroto
dear bob.....the poem carries you along in one breath! a visual which i could see in my minds eye., and i will always remember this poem.it has some magic in it. ,
I release my body from my chair, collect my thoughts and things, to close, to make an end. Time to rest, to sleep, a time of recovery for happy days ahead.' This is a beautiful, inspirational write indeed! ! ! i hope, my days will lighten up soon sir... words of an angel indeed! ! ! yet i dont how i can get this feeling out of my head..'Life is but a walking shadow, tale told by an idiot signyfying nothing'.. this is said by Macbeth, when he sees his end! ! when his character was disintegrated.. may be i m a disintegrated character too! ! ! ... yet this site sort of helped to mend my pieces together! ! nice write sir 10++ with love shan .

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