Day: June 7, 2025

Poet-Tree

Seeds afloat seeking unfamiliar ground

A mother’s warmth to be found

Love is rained from parental cloud

Bed is rich beneath the shroud

*

Father’s push from dark to light

Growth by day and shadows of night

Journeys upward to infinite skies

A world anew to saplings eyes

*

Soaring towards the sun-gods call

Arms outstretched embracing all

Colors change, soon to flee

Naked spires looming free

*

Twigs share times weighty strife.

A forest of one can have no life

Seasoned words of maturity

Nature’s view atop the poet tree

*

The End

Sck101814

Chronic-call

~

Horrors penned in tomes of fear
Words unseen in a shadows lair
Forever night when cover’s tight
Wings blossom in morning light

Rolling stones gathering moss
When time renders motions loss
Unknown saints wear heavy cross
Unbound future our only boss

Times absorbed in a sponge
Fills the well to take the plunge
Return from pleasure, pre-desire
Or the heat of ice and frozen fire

Air-less caverns running swift
Bloodied quill the only gift
Flightless birds soaring high
Pages fluttering in endless sky

Spiraling upward for the crest
Touching down – needed rest
Sleepless specter, broken spine calls back
Ink floods lines, sheets fill black

Dark and light fill lengthy fall
Return we must to journey’s all
To do what’s right, a writers call
Recording all, big and small

~*~

sck101614

Wheels

~

I like wheels – that’s what I like.

Cars or trucks or a motor bike,

wheels make me smile and grin.

Some wheels spin in wind on a pin.

~

I wish I had wheels on my feet.

Then I can zoom down the street.

Up the ramp and flying high,

wheeling through the open sky.

~

I wish I had wheels on my chair.

I could get things way over there.

I could scoot in my stocking feet.

Or reach things high standing on seat.

~

Wheels go round and round in my head.

I wish I had wheels on my bed.

Then I can drive to all my dreams.

Win all the races, hear crowd screams.

~

In the garage, my wheels parked there.

Soon I’ll be out, wind in my hair.

First kick tires, adjust the seat.

Polish the chrome isn’t she sweet.

~

Check the mirror so I can see,

everything – way behind me.

Yes – riding fast is what I like.

On all three wheels of my trike.

~*~

The End

sck091114

Morning Triku #166 ~ We Are

~
Grays are Lies

To write with the dawn,
sky’s to rise to brilliant eyes.
To her I am drawn.

~
Tests Are

Sunday mornings are:
times of quiet and peaceful rest,
shared zest, feeling best.

~
We Are We

We are as we are.
We’re at the place that we are.
We choose who we are.

~*~
SCK061018