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Poetry By Denny Sternberg
from Sacramento, California
e-mail: c/o



Never put any of
your senses on hold.
Be aware all the time
of what you feel
and if I appear
presumptious and bold,
denying is never
the way to heal.

So, let it all out,
the laughter and tears.
You alone know what
life is about,
so, face and then
dismiss your fears.

You will
if you look,
find a kindred soul.
Don't bury yourself
in your home or in a book
but rise proudly
out of that
lonely, sad hole.



You can count on me
to always love you.
As of now, no one
loves you as I do.

You can count on me
to show anger, to fight
but no one loves you
as I, with all my might.

You can count on me
to love you as you grow old and gray.
No one loves you
as I do, every single day!

You can count on me
to criticize, to praise.
No one loves you as I do
FOREVER in so many ways.



I wonder at the wonder of US.
In awe at the deepness
of our love.
You are my wholeness.

I marvel at how you fill the voids.
Amazed at your ability
to put the pieces together.
You are my love!

Moved by your high values.
Surprised at how you balance
the ups and downs.
You are my wholeness!

With precisely the right amount
of words, looks, deeds,
you display your feelings.
You are my love!



Love is kindled by a look, a word.
Love is like an endless road.
You can soar like a bird
but carry a heavy load
until you learn by taking AND giving.
Be aware of and attentive to your feelings.
All essential to loving loving.

Love can be extinguished
by a word, a look.
Love is hard work, not what
you see on TV or read in a book.



A street without people
a city without noise
a house without walls
and a park without trees.

A playground without swings
a gallery without pictures
a suburb without dogs
and a theatre without a show.

A meadow without grass
a school without children
a sky without stars
that's ME without YOU!

Empty and unwhole
is what it would be.



Feel a need to connect
with someone from my past
who knew me as I was
and not as I am.
I have been defeated
by life, so, the change in me
is not only outside but inside.
My heart is tired from loving
from giving
from hurting
from being honest
from not accepting
from being ME
from feeling separate.
My heart is tired.



The mornings are
for those who glow
but midnite is
for those who know
that dark has mystery
but no pretenses.
With the day the secrets
are behind fences.
Though the world
is at pause at nite,
it's without the
disorder of lite.



Memories are forever.
They come and go as in dreams.
The pleasant ones seem better in retrospect.
The sad ones lose impact, with time, it seems.

Memories are forever.
They drift in and out, like the tide.
The happy ones you hope to repeat.
Mysteriously, the sad ones subside.

Memories are forever.
Soothing if feeling lonely or blue
but don't dip too deeply into them
or you will not fully enjoy the shiney new.

Memories are forever.
No one can take them away.
Gather them up, use them to learn from.
Memories are born every day.

Memories are forever.
Cherished by all who share them with you
or they can be your special secret alone
to change the emphasis, do with them as you wish to do.



Humor is the chocolate chip in a cookie.
It brings out laughter.

Humor is the fuzz on a tennis ball.
It turns a frown into a smile.

Humor is the fizz in a soda bubbling to the top.
It should not be suppressed.

Humor can relieve anxiety.
It shines in the darkness.



There is a mystery surrounding poetry.
Hidden meanings only known to the poet.
Some poems are obvious, some obscure
but poems lure you to read on
and discover your own secrets.



The WORDS rapidly enter,
then leave for awhile.
The WORDS join with thoughts
in a mixed up style.
The WORDS form into sentences
but meanings unclear,
then merge with emotions
and more confusion I fear.
Some WORDS are weak, some forceful.
All come from deep within a soul.
To put them together, to make others feel
is definitely a writer's goal.
The WORDS keep coming and suddenly
-- usually at a very late or early hour.
They flow, they fuse, they have significance.
WORDS have a potent power.



What drains energy from the present?
Languishing in the past they say.
What stunts the growth process?
Wallowing in thoughts of yesterday.



Is that tear
within my reach to dry?
Can I make a person smile
and stop a baby cry?

Is that hurt
within my reach to quell?
Can I help reverse
a person's living hell?



I don't wanta be a shadow in people' minds
a memory
a past tense
a has been

I don't wanta be a retrospective in loved ones' thoughts
a was
a dream
a yesterday

But when the inevitable arrives
I wanta be forgotten
unless recollections of me evoke



To all parents who teach their young to fly:

It takes LOVE to let go.
It takes courage to teach
the young to fly.
It takes a good self image, inner resources
to fill your own needs with other
than your children.



A good reason to write down your feelings
is to avoid telling them to others.
Cuz no one's really interested
'cept best friends and Mothers.



I have sacrificed NOTHING
to be a Mother.
It's a profession devalued
but one that enriched
all the living, growing,
creative parts of my being.
It was my responsible choice
and privilege.



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