Poetry – Diana Hunter McGuerty


Each writer, poet, artist… each one
Whose heart is warm
Invites you now to step within
Where you’ll not come to harm,
A place that’s good…uplifting
To move you on your way
With signposts…revelations
By which they try to say
That insights known are shared with all
Who care to step within,
That life is learning how to live
Without the bond of sin…
Those chains which man so willingly
Wraps tight about the chest
Rather than accept the choice
Of doing what is best
For him, for those with whom he moves
Throughout all worldly space,
That…links he’s forged in darkness
Create a hurtful place,
That he is better capable
Of character most shining…
Instead of lies and undeveloped
Behavior filled with whining,
Those actions of a spoiled child
Unwilling to respond
To what is right and honorable
In his own world and beyond.
An invitation to step within,
Renewing then his soul…
Before his lesser attitudes
And actions take great toll.
An invitation to share instead
Those teachings we embrace
That give each man the fortitude
To walk within that place
Wherein there are no shadows,
No cracks where he can hide…
That place within where all that’s known
Exist so deep inside
His heart…his soul…his guiding force
That allows him truth in sight,
Equipping him to feel and act…
In knowing what is right.


Manipulation is fun…from ten to one…And here, my dear readers,
Is how it is done.
You make them afraid to speak up
Or offend… that’s ten.
You make them grin and bear it and say
“I’m fine…” that’s nine.
You make them feel it’s impossible to change,
Already too late… that’s eight.
You tell them life is just that way, though
It’s better in heaven… that’s seven.
You teach them they can’t do it, and
The lesson sticks… that’s six.
You make them adore a life that’s
A bore… that’s four.
You make them believe they can never
Be free… that’s three.
You make them feel guilty, and
In debt to you… that’s two.
You make them feel miserable, that
Life is no fun… that’s one!


Reach for that ring, the golden one…
The prize that revolves around the sun;
Your life is the ring, as you circle each day,
From morning to night, it’s yours for the play.
Treasures surround you, awaiting your hand…
We live in a wondrous and lovely land;
Just look beyond the grit and the grime,
At the golden rings of valuable time.
If you fail to touch, or even to try…
The day will be empty, and simply go by;
Once wasted, it never will return quite the same,
So reach out, my friend, and enjoy the game!


Stand you firm upon solid ground
yet island it may seem,
though taint of madness fast increase
I share with you this dream.

Across the globe a sickness grows
of virus planned and deadly,
as even now you see the signs
yield not to this bleak medley.

The Horsemen have once more let loose
upon a much-trained folk,
apocalypse of dismal tune
though many rashly joke.

There is no humor to this tale
that scans across the sea,
for I have seen insidious growth
they seek the brave and free.

Others of a weaker blend
have swallowed bait and hook;
no longer do they think or act,
blind eyes replace the book.

Their thoughts no longer keen exist;
respect for life seems dimmed,
though some of us still hear the notes
of freedom’s brightest hymns.

Blinded by machines and fads
and products most obscene,
the eyes of men have long gone blank
now programmed by the screen.

Titles rank and promised gifts
replace Man’s truth and duty,
once held so dear by one and all
compassion, love and beauty.

Our earth once known to birth us all
as mother to our joy,
now bleeds and sorrows in her pain,
a spoiled child’s toy.

Their lies throughout the world now spread
as elitists steal control,
they’ve aborted from each man and child
their spirit… and their soul.

But wait! before the sky goes dim,
mismanaged by these few,
we must establish islands;
I’m speaking now of YOU.

For still within the multitudes
of those whose eyes are blank,
are tiny bits of scattered light
and these I mean to thank.

We need to spread the quiet word
established deep within,
that if one soul still stands apart
protect him! bring him in!

Share your strength and courage
with others you shall meet,
but carefully reveal yourselves
and live by thought and feats.

Be wary of the blinded ones
for dangerous their plight,
as they will try to drag you down:
stand firm in freedom’s fight!

Be cautious of whom you trust
as you become most rare,
and seek out those with hearts like yours
they’re scattered everywhere.

Know when to speak and what to say,
protect your wit and might,
then join with others such as you
in pockets filled with light.

Stand you firm or bend at will
to nurture well this dream,
that madness can be cured at root
though deadly it may seem.

Send forth your strength and comfort
to those not yet gone blind,
and gather then more bits of light
each ray that you can find!

For goodness gathers as it grows…
on nurturing it thrives,
and madness shrinks when understood
by healthy wholesome lives.

This is not the end.


I write to feel better, in life to be effective…
To shift my inner balance and gain a clear perspective.

I write to sing a love song, my thanks for daily cheer…
To alter moods within me and soothe my every fear.

I write to leave a record, my living history…
Because it’s all important, at least it is to me.

I write to know my feelings, like any other man…
To deep explore my inner realm and thus… to understand.


Introduce him… gradually… to a tepid pot of water.
He’ll grin and bask most comfortably,
Unaware his imminent slaughter.
Let him feel that all is well, his leaders most benign,
Truly caring for his “common good”… that everything is fine.
Train him, to blindly float… as bubbles start to rise…
An expression of ultimate stupidry now clouding Froggy’s eyes.
And as those bubbles rise and burst, distress begins to show…
Oh, Froggy dear, I greatly fear you’ll be the last to know…
That those who soothed you early on, with promises now broken…
Your “leaders” whom you idolized, with bitter lies have spoken.
Every “ism”, every king, every self-proclaimant…
Is relishing your slow demise while flaunting golden raiment.
You’ve paid the bill most willingly, for lunch that’s “on the house”…
By trusting those who, God-like, are naught but nasty louse.
Gradually, dear luncheon special, you’ve catered to the dark
Who’ve taken and destroyed all life which once was natural park.
They’ve taken all, and squandered, as cheating was their rule…
But only because… this boiling frog… was such an easy fool!


There be a vile sickness a’foot
For which a band-aid does not exist.
Rather, one must get to the root
Or the malady will long exist.
The subject must first off recognize
Those symptoms which are real.
They can not be hidden from truth-seeking eyes,
And demand to be openly healed.
But until the patient no longer smothers
Those issues so deep within…
That syndrome will fester and spread to others.
Affected by her (or him).

False expressions of patriotism linked with rage and hate.
Disdain for universal human rights other than their own.
Propaganda and blatant lies against “enemies of the state”.
Obsessed with military “security”, though national crime has grown.

Suppressing intellectuals and those who protect the planet
While rampant corruption does its harm, totally not blamed.
Linking false “religion” and corporate control: most don’t understand it.
Aided by governing sycophants of ignorance most famed.

Protected corporations, bankers and the ruling elite.
Disdain for the arts and those who care, anyone with “soul”.
Fraudulent elections to ensure integrity is beat.
Power of labor eliminated and mass media now controlled.

What to do,then? Is there a cure?
Should the symptoms be simply ignored?
While many enable the disease, to be sure,
Rather than deal at its core.
I can not offer a correction
If others refuse to comply.
But someone must change the direction
Before the healthy cells die.
We must see that sickness among us
As it loudly declares its power,
Or the sweetness of life will no longer exist
As humanity is fast devoured.

First, an honest admission
That the illness truly exists
And, unless it be brought to submission,
We can do nothing more than to wish
That those symptoms will someday disappear
And all will be healthy again…
But truth demands more than a sigh or a tear
And steps applied to the end
Of problems that exist and can not be denied
As the true facts are brought to the fore:
That a darkness continues to fester inside,
With a power that must be abhorred.

Then follow good thinking with action at last
So others will not succumb
To ignorant fear that spreads so fast
As epidemics so easily come.
Disease of the heart, the soul and the mind
At the hands of those that lie
And extend their power o’er the weakest kind
Too lazy to even try
To find true facts about their disease
Which exists in those most willing
Whose leaders do cheat them with such terrible ease
And led them to their killing,

To kill the spirit of caring and love
In those who refuse to give in…
To ruin the world below and above
And bask in the privilege of sin
So easily popular among those who embrace
Their leaders who work their strings,
For puppets they are who have no taste
For the creatures of life who sing
Of the healthy of heart and soul and the mind,
Those guardians of all that is true…
As individuals of a thoughtful kind
Will work to do what they must do.


Some days are meant for dreaming,
Gathering moonbeams along the way…
Some determine destiny,
By one thought you put in play…
Some demand attention,
With lists of chores to do…
And this is one of them for me,
I suppose you have them too.
Some days are meant for friendship,
Spending time with those you love…
Some create frustration,
With the usual push and shove…
Some make you feel restless,
With itches you can’t scratch…
And toss you, like Brer’ Rabbit,
Into the briar patch!
Some days are meant for bumming,
Lounging flat upon your back…
Some are filled with great ideas,
Though the wherewithal, you lack…
Some are best forgotten,
For slights and errors dual…
And those demand you get back-up,
To establish your renewal.
Some days are meant for porching,
And playing with the cats…
Some are just for trying on
Long dresses and fancy hats…
Some are normal everyday,
Filled with mundane fluff!
Each day you live is like a gift,
Wrapped in colors bright and bland…
Whatever you find contained within,
Just try to understand…
It isn’t o much what is in the box,
Or how it’s wrapped outside…
It’s what you make of what you’ve got
That really turns the tide!


Feather on the desert wind.
Upon a lake of ice.
Golden dust within the universe.
With the rhythm of a heartbeat.
In waves of soundless energy.
Opalescent colors of a pearl.
Ebb and flow of life.
Essence of vitality!


A new beginning, it came to me today
A way to live and work and learn,
A way to give and share and earn
I am drawn to a place apart from here,
An easing from worry, frustration and fear.
Where music plays and spirits are raised.
Where folks are silent if they wish
Where work is shared and the good are spared,
Where nourishment is taken from a common dish.
Simple fare both healthy and good,
And I shall learn to sculpt with wood
To whistle again and walk outdoors
To awaken each day to healthy chores.
Planting a garden rich and green
The bounty of growth and nurturing seen
To drink fresh water and the juice of the grape,
And raise good veggies of varied shape.

To plant trees from whose branches the fruit develops,
From the gift of the seed and the wealth it envelops
To sit in the evening and gaze up at the sky,
Observing the birds and where they fly.
The sights they have seen along the way,
As they settle for a rest at the end of the day…
Closing my eyes and hearing the sounds
That drift from the trees,
The stream and the ground
Mindful of the beauty of life all around.
As one caretaker for whom experience
Is bound to have taught a few simple things:
That books have words
And birds have wings,
That my inner sanctuary
Is where my spirit light sings
That I am a part of this earth
And it is here that I’ll stay,
As I start a new beginning
Every moment each day.


I feel like I’ve been climbing
A slippery rope of sand…
Moving forward, inch by inch,
Then losing the elusive strand.

Hanging on with all my might
But slowly losing ground…
Dreaming, scheming, searching, seeking
Until my home is found.

Losing touch from time to time
Yet picking up the trail…
Trying to get a stronger grip
On that which seems quite frail.

Counting on each single grain,
Precious one…
Sleeping through each long dark night
Inspired by the newborn sun.

Perhaps I have been climbing
A slippery rope of sand…
But miracles do happen
Or, so I understand.

Those grains may come together
And forge a future bright…
As long as I let go of it
And trust in what is right.


I sing of the sins,
And the joy and the grace
As I wander the land and observe humans race.

I record the music,
Each note that I borrow,
Composing the lyrics to be sung tomorrow.

I sing of emotions
Deep with feeling imbued,
Avoiding all creatures crafty and crude.

I notice the frowns
And the smiles on each face,
As I walk every bit of this wondrous place.

I sing of the terror,
The anguish and sorrow
As I smooth the brow of each troubled morrow.

I enscribe the notes
Of a fair multitude,
As I turn a deaf ear to the bullies and rude.

I sing of the mountains
In the absence of Man
As I try to protect the earth from his hand.

I value the words
From which good will derives,
As I bind the wounds from sharp tongues and knives.

I sing of good food
And a bounteous table,
Ignoring dichotomies, each name and each label.

I write the love songs
For the ocean and land
As I seek the clean air beyond man’s demand.

I sing of the people
Who lead happy lives
As I praise their sweet children, their husbands and wives.

I do what I can
And I feel what I’m able,
As I hearkened to the words of this age-old fable.

I treasure the loved ones
For whom I now sing,
Be they four-legged creatures or the birds on the wing.

May you carry the tunes
Of comfort and love,
As I wander the land in the sunshine above.


I am the way I am,
And you are only you;
There never has, nor never will,
Be any others like us two.
Many things that we’ve been told,
They really hardly matter;
They serve to hurt, or separate,
Or lie, or slightly flatter.
Useless groups that people join,
And dearly pay the price;
Some are only fakers
And some are not quite nice.
Your race or nationality,
Your age or height or gender;
Whether you eat red meat,
Or put veggies in a blender…
It doesn’t really matter,
It’s all a silly game;
We’re all two-legged animals,
And rather much the same.
We all behave the way we do,
For many different reasons;
And that behavior seldom changes,
As constant as the seasons.
Hold a mirror to your face,
And tell me what you see;
You see yourself,that’s all there is
When I look…I see me.
We can not be what we are not,
Through someone else’s eyes;
To view another through our own mirror,
Is seldom very wise.


Where does the friendly giant hide,
In the land of thoughtless pygmies…
Where does Santa land his sleigh,
In a land of “Gimme, gimme!”?

Where does a bee seek nectar
In a land of artificial flowers…
How can one lead a stable life,
In a land of shifting hours?

Where can a ray of sunshine fall,
In a room where shades are drawn…
Where can a thoughtful person thrive,
In a land so filled with brawn?

Where does the artist’s eye find beauty,
In a land now ugly and bland…
Where does the fish find a stream to swim,
In a land of arid sand?

Where does a man find honesty,
In a land where nothing is fair…
Where does a tree grow tall and green,
In a land of poisoned air?

Where does the pioneer travel,
In a land where the borders are closed…
Where does the minstrel sing his songs,
In a land where deafness grows?

Where does the craftsman sell his skill,
In a land of dubious wares…
Where does the poet write tender lines,
In a land where no one cares?

Where does the giant hang his head,
In despair and utter sadness…
He lives in a land that knows no joy
And has chosen instead, sheer madness.


Do not insist that he love you forever…
A fatal flaw indeed.
But if he offers those tender words…
It’s all quite lovely, agreed.
Yet…”forever” is an awfully long time
And I question its use at all.
If I were the lad in question,
I’d find reason enough to stall.

Why not appreciate
The here…the now…as best.
For if you demand that he sign in blood
To prove he has passed “the Test”.
You may simply be left with his signature
Upon a sheet most blank
And who then, my dear, is responsible?
You’ve only yourself to Thank.

I do not wish to sound the cynic
Nor spread a brusque alarm…
But your insistence upon a promise
Could cause less good than harm.
And while you’re at it, consider this:
Will he change his ways for you?
Another fatal flaw, my sweet,
Best to adjust your view.

Do you care enough for this fine chap
To accept him for what he is?
Or had you planned to reform the cad
With your black magic…whiz!
I must once again remind you
That such change is self-induced
And I might ask, while we’re at it,
Have your strange ways been reduced?!

Each of us is person…
A person within his (her) own right.
And before you determine to remodel,
Don’t overestimate your sights.
And yet…if chemistry and love and opportunity
Bring you together in time…
Then hurrah for Love Eternal
And ignore this silly rhyme!


Poets and pastors and playwrights
All in the ship at sea…
Decided to free their people
And pray on bended knee.
With a yearning for truth and freedom
That existed but quietly…
They stirred the hearts of many a man
Against age-old tyranny.

The professional politicians
Who had ruled with a stranglehold…
Now heard the will of the people
And their spokesmen brave and bold.
For these thieves had long been tainted
With the greed for power so cold…
And they had ensnared the people
Through fear and lies that were told.

Great drama earns not a farthing
But it does feed soul of man…
And fans the flame of freedom
Which each being can understand.
Give thanks to the hearts and spirit
Of those with the will to stand…
And secure man’s freedom for living
That should flourish in every land.

Yes, there is a time for poets,
To stir the coals gone weak…
And build the flame of courage once more,
In a people subdued and meek.
The nightmare may be over,
And free thought itself can speak…
As the wise and willing together
Fashion the life they seek.


Fortunes told by the gypsy
Tea leaves…a crystal ball.
The dark and handsome stranger
A messenger come to call.
One sits and waits with hated breath
To hear those tempting words
What looms beyond the present?
What secrets has she heard?

And does it really matter
The oracle’s dark brand?
Or are we as a single grain
Of imperceptibly drifting sand?

As long as man…in “civilized” times
Has left the earth in scars,
He wants to know beyond the truth
Of what his fortunes are.
He seeks a myth or legnd,
A vision of prophecy
To know that that which he yearns
Is what the prophet sees.

And should he be so privileged
The Fates should hold him dear
That well-paid prophet will drone those words
The supplicant must hear.

His “destiny”…his given fate
Is christened then with wine,
The futures but a glistening toy
Deserved by him in time.
But what of those less amply blessed
Whose moments pass in toil
Are they as apt to profit well
Without the prophet’s foil?

Does privilege and “bloodline”
Necessitate success
And is this so because they say
It’s “really for the best”?!

I think that man…in origin
Did value more each day
And not so much for profit
Or the gain of margins paid.
He lied upon the bounteous earth
In harmony with all
As hunter and a gatherer
Until the axe did fall.

When “Owners” scraped the rich dark soil
And surplus needed storing
When “Businessmen” sought markets
And profits hence adoring.

No longer then a family
Which lived from day to day
His services then demanded
For less than meager pay.
No longer then a free man,
As cities grew in force
The hunter’s strength was now enslaved
And followed different course.

His “destiny” then determined
By social caste and wealth
As “modern man” emerged in power
To live by greed and stealth.

Thus governed by the powerful
As religions took their place
To both exploit and terrorize
These “dregs” of human race.
Once dignified, as ancient man
Now, driven to his knees,
In order to provide these “Masters”
With all that they should please.

And does it really matter…
Where now each man does stand?
Or are we as a single grain
Of inevitably drifting sand?


Diamonds are a girl’s best friend
Or so our Marilyn crooned…
But I’ve got something better, you see;
They outshine the sun and the moon.
These folks are gems of the highest regard,
They sparkle wherever they are…
Loving and jolly, bright as a pin,
Settled here and there and a’far.
I’m deeply pleased to address them
As friends of quality shone…
Lovely men and women,
The sweetest to be known.
And so I wish the very best
With tidings filled with love…
We fit together, my dearest friends,
Like a smooth and satin glove.
May our days be ever so humble…
May our nights be fragrant with flowers;
May we seldom falter or stumble…
And our lives filled with brightest of hours.


Pen and paper:
My laughter
My tears,
My strength
My fears…
My friend
My foe,
My salvation
My woe…
My joy
My strife
My true voice
My life.

Diana Hunter McGuerty has been a teacher for over 35 years and a lifetime poet.

Diana’s first published poetry book is titled Many Shades of Light: Reflections in Poetry

Diana’s poetry book and other poetry can be found at:

To purchase Diana’s book ($12), send request to pecoskid@juno.com. Thank You!