Is to never ever need
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Is to never ever need
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
A racist is a
person who views a prism
but sees only glass
Some prefer Alpha’s
Some Beta’s, I like Delta’s
They’re always changing
A poet preserved by their craft
Today’s storm is tomorrow’s draft
Tonight’s darkness, tomorrow’s light
Time alone is time to write
Time without leaves space within
Whether or not we choose to begin
Space’s filled with unchosen weather
That’s why a quill floats like a feather
Writing out the storms, blue sky always brighter
Showers of tears make the heart feel lighter
Rainbows get a page or two, hurricanes get quite a few
And storms better weathered in a blanket shared by two
Painting on water
Pictures in infinite shades
Then instantly fades
Thoughts of love, humming notes to an unknown song,
I’ve tried to write it down but the words all came out wrong.
It seems when I think of you all other thoughts go astray.
Emotions and desires jumbled, I can find no words to say.
I’ve tried a million times and I’ll try again today,
though time spent together always the better way.
Now pen’s in hand, mindful bliss my heart begins to race,
visions of my fantasy; beauty, elegance and grace.
Reminiscent of cascading falls in the jungles of Belize,
the splash of your wavy hair flowing in a summer breeze.
Where rising suns cannot compare to the glow upon your face,
I’m warmed to my very core; the cold has left no trace.
With eyes as deep and all-consuming as is the vast Pacific,
their depths so never-ending I can find no phrase specific.
Your subtle lips glistening, a silent language spoken,
still or parted, my semaphore, together I wish unbroken.
A brilliance of mind and sharpened wit, a formula to confound
Whilst pure of heart with soulful passions amaze and astound
And when I rest my head to sleep and your image begins to blur,
I envision a ballerina floating through the moonlit air.
Touching down on slippered feet, the foundation of my life,
where I’ll dream again of a poem unwritten – for a lovely wife.
I dreamt I was sleeping
Or perhaps I was dead
Eyes closed, body still
Silence in my head
I woke to a feeling of Deja-vu
Then all’s forgotten seeing you
Our day of sunshine and frolicking bliss
The moonlight shares our hugs and kiss
Warm in our bed, bodies intertwined
The stars, heavens and our hearts aligned
Then darkness consumes happiness supreme
When morning interrupts my dream of a dream
A thigh-high recollection,
of the principal’s floral wall.
Coz that’s the view ya get,
when your only three feet tall
I can still hear the chunky heels,
charging down the hall.
She said I stole equipment.
It said it was just a ball.
She dragged me to the office,
then gave my mom a call.
When my mom got there,
I had to tell it all.
I’ve lost a ball or two or more,
hid them in a bathroom stall.
It wasn’t something new,
been doin it since fall.
I’d pick them up after school,
and sell them at the mall.
They sent me out to the bench,
I was feeling very small.
But I couldn’t let the other kids,
see me beg and crawl.
The giant roared, hands flew,
I thought they had a brawl.
Mom came out, we both went home,
and there began the squall.
Thunderous and long-winded,
I couldn’t help but bawl.
Then what happened next,
I really can’t recall.
I gave back all the money,
stayed after school counting balls.
I had to say I’m sorry,
to the giant in the shawl.
So I guess I did remember,
that balls haul after all.
A love imagined
floating in infinite time
Mooning tears for thee
Like tides on a deep blue sea
Soaked in lunacy
Some views of life out of reach
Though the best still free
Like nestled pebbles on a beach
The views for all to see
Chapter 1 ~ the Beginning
All’s quiet this early winter’s night.
Embers fade in the candles dancing light.
I was thinking of Christmas, many years past.
Those fond old memories, now fading fast.
I recalled when our home came alive.
I was just a small girl of about five.
It was a grand old house for mom, dad and me.
Sat perched on a hill overlooking the sea.
It’s still a museum in our little town.
It was built by a General of historic renown.
Shared with his bride Martha, she had a sad life.
The General’s a hero, she a young widowed wife.
We cared for the house and gave the tours.
All year-long we opened our doors.
We welcomed the guest to step back in time.
So come on in and share our rhyme.
I lay awake and tossed and turned.
View original post 822 more words
Never liked “only”
Until recently, being
Only middle -aged
Time begets flavor
A punch-line’s uttered moot when
Poetry, a noun
Simple, thoughtful, clever words
Or the verb that’s life
Old (Foxy) News-
Redhead’s always fair.
Redheaded Libra’s always-
Fair and well-balanced
All that’s alive, not all living
All that’s died some still giving
All that love will be loved in return
All that take, will always yearn
All that gives time, body and hearts
All that end fruitfully nurture fresh starts
Novels made easy-
Simply steal a best seller
Then change all the words
Three lines at a time
Justice tips balance
Writ large by hand, chain and scale
Pen or bar and shale
One can write better
Edit more or rewrite more
But you can’t write wrong
When fire fought with fire
Ash is all that will remain
Till tomorrows rain
Winter’s yet arrived
All ready spring’s on my mind
Please wake me in time
Of life written in haiku
Sharing simple thoughts
Libraries Don’t Lie:
A writers volume
Shelved in mind, read in the heart
Writ in tears of joy
Share and Care:
Caring’s not sharing
One can care for all, share none
Sharing is caring
I won’t even try to deny
Truths are seen in your eyes
A blink, wink or a glance to sky
Staring down when feeling shy
The squint when angry, wide open when not
That alluring flutter from the heart
The shedding of tear for fallen friend dear
Or the bright sunny glow when friends are near
I love all their faucets and all I’ve eyed
I love them closed, safe by my side
With mornings gaze lies cannot hide
When loving eyes cannot be denied
The perfect guy gift
A reversible boxer
Lover and fighter
Point of View
My thoughts here and there
Some might think it bi-polar
Random Poets Truths
Since dreaming writing
I’ve experienced that a
Dragon tale is long
Colorful and Hue-less
A pallets last drip
Useless to most, not much fun
Lest ye paint in prose