Where bumble bees sing to morning blooms, sunshine fills sleepy rooms. Little birds chirp to ring in the day. The town folk thrive and children play. ~ Evening’s all spent cozy and warm; everyone huddles at word of a storm. With a common goal of tranquility, their smiles all share the harmony. ~ Freedom reigns and peace assured, caring for all, we’re all adored. And though this place is yet to be found, in dreams we meet when feet leave the ground.
Baby’s first spring blooms with joy. There’s grass for sitting and nature’s their toy. There are leaves to touch and bugs to see, flowers to smell and the buzz of a bee. ~ The sun is warm and the sky is blue. A breeze tickles toes where once a shoe. Daring they get and start to crawl. They chase the cat chasing the ball. ~ Mom gets it first and giggles they share. She tosses the ball high in the air. Little eyes get rubbed, its naptime soon. Then there’s lunch on a spring afternoon.
I seek both calm and balance,
yet I know not how.
And you my fearless Leo,
you are this cat’s meow.
My heart now beats more loudly,
whilst I feel your roar.
Our purrs are pure perfection,
who could wish for more.
On a scale of one to ten,
eleven does surely exist.
Our stars now speaking volumes,
why should we resist.
I promise you all it’s coming soon,
a poem I’ll write with no doom and gloom.
Spring will come and blossoms will bloom,
profoundly imagined locked in winter’s room.
Winters, like life, always end in demise.
Love again felt will brighten the skies.
Clouds will float and not obscure,
every breath’s a pleasure and pure.
Summer’s warmth brings the touch of skin.
Icy hearts thaw from deep within.
The hues of fall paint our ground.
A canvas of white offers promise all around.
Summer love leads to fall.
Autumnal changes effects all.
Leaves turn, soon to drop.
Life moves on and won’t stop.
Chills felt to the bone.
Warmth’s gone when alone.
Seasons cycle as they must.
Tomorrows come, we have to trust.
Truth felt in the heart.
Minds make lies art.
Sleep’s unknown for many a night.
Sadness fills each line I write.
If not loved a future is to find.
If not a poet, perhaps then blind.
Hues created we want to see.
Now the fall’s here for you and me.
I feel a masterpiece is on the way.
But don’t look now, it’s not today.
I’ll write it all in a lyrical rhyme.
I’ll write of joy and precious time.
I’ll write of life and of love.
I’ll write of stars that shine above.
I’ll write of places that we’ve seen.
And the quiet times in between.
We’ve delightful dinners with lovely views,
and our times together with no shoes.
I’ll write of walks in the sand.
I’ll write of sunsets hand in hand.
I feel this masterpiece is well underway.
I feel it growing every day.
Now volumes I’ll write of loving you.
With a lifetime ahead before it’s through.
Only dreamers live the life they choice.
Only gamblers have a life to lose.
With every word there’s a cost.
With every second a second’s lost.
Every child has a dream to live.
Every parent has a life to give.
And for every wish there’s a smile.
But only love makes it all worthwhile.
Sunny faces thrills with light. Beauty shining stills the blight. Colors bright warm the heart. Day and night life is art. ~ All or part, time’s to keep. End’s a start, beginnings to seek. Shallow or deep, consume we will. Time’s to weep when time we kill.
Today I know not what to do. So I think I’ll try something new. I’ll color a poem with skies so bright, with stars that twinkle every night. ~ There’ll be no wars or no hate. Conflicts solved with just debate. There’ll be no clocks to dictate time. There’ll be no violence or any crime. ~ There’ll be no pollution or climate change. All will be loved, there’ll be no strange. Peace will be our common goal. Joy we’ll share from our soul. ~ There’ll be no hunger or disease. Children will play as they please. Crayons will be free for everyone. So let’s get a box and start the fun.
On a canvas our lives are drawn, born of purity, thrust into dawn. Colors seduce, every stroke another day, our every action a shade of gray. ~ Hardships endured many tears ago, the pain forgotten, losses to forever show. With each scar we’re sculpted, our hands bear the tools. Minds write the stories of masters and fools. ~ Covers ever changing as we choose, pages between paid our dues. Lines filled in, some hues gone astray. Upon our death the frame we’ll display.
Good morning all, the day is bright. Let’s sip our coffee then we’ll write. The night is done, the demons at rest. Pick up your pens, time to be best. ~ We’ll reflect upon yesterday’s past, the good and bad that didn’t last. Check the boxes in columns we’ve made. And erase the X’s we hope will fade. ~ The mission begins with a feeling or word. The march is forward, never deterred. Ideas explode and emotions guide. Pages fill with what others would hide. ~ The rush then over, a battle won. Some bring tears while others fun. Sheets bare awaken surprise. Good morning all lets open our eyes.
Day to dusk and dusk to night, night to dawn and a new day’s light. Time as life cycles in a spectrum of hues. Frequencies frequently dulled by blues. ~ Every second a shade setting a tone, rainbows intensify when not alone. Clouds engulf or stars shine, wheels tint our chosen line. ~ Years may fly while hardships creep, troubles fade when dreams we keep. Brush aside the grays in a timely fashion; pull pastels into a daily ration. ~ Day to dusk and dusk to night, night to dawn and a new day’s light. Alarms will sound and snoozes ensue. The palette new, what color are you?
Lulled by music without a sound, sleep arises when feet leave the ground. The high notes soar, the low notes pound, harmony’s felt all around. ~ Eyes closed with visions bright, darkness consumes, and we call it night. Stars shine with guiding light, our sun awakens a new day’s sight. ~ Hidden worlds then unseen, reality just time between. There’s months of white and of green, pastel shades fill the scene. ~ Ghosts of the past by our side, together we travel far and wide. Upon their wings, how high we glide, melody’s echo like a changing tide. ~ Life is lived never alone, spirits follow on their own. Reminding us what to atone, joining then when we’re grown. ~ Death’s a part of paying dues, we only cry when we lose. The future is for us to choose, we’re still singing, singing the blues.
If to paint you in my mind, extra space I will find. Many things I could forget. Hit delete with no regret. ~ On the brightest wall you will stand. There I’d stare, brush in hand. Heart beats thumping, a flourish made. Details cherished never fade. ~ In my head we shall dwell. Sharing thoughts we’d never tell. On my shoulders you will ride. Our joy displayed in our stride. ~ The outside world no longer exists. Boxes checked on all our lists. Imagination will be our place. My only vision is your face. ~ All our wishes will come true. Our dreams are filled with me and you. But a painter I’m not nor a thief. Freedom’s greater than my relief. ~ For if to hide within one’s brain, there is no future or life to gain. Our time together on change depends. Our tomorrows then will know no ends.
Yesterday I felt abstract. But the picture’s still intact. Colors and shapes are in line. But the edges are all mine. ~ The final piece isn’t always neat. Things get trimmed or to delete. But when it’s shaded no one knows. We choose if it’s dull or glows. ~ Though life’s mistakes we cannot hide. It’s sink or swim to ride the tide. Life’s ever changing each day begun. Unlike the seascape, either fog or sun.
If to live a life of fantasy, immortality bound and trouble free. Never to be a wannabe, desires fulfilled by decree. What would they be, Oh what would they be? ~ To be an explorer on the open sea, nature bound and living free, the entire world I would see. I’d fulfill life’s destiny. Where would it be, where would it be? ~ An artist perhaps, filling the world with glee, history bound and creating free, painting for all a new reality. Or I’ll write a song with perfect harmony. How will it be, how will it be? ~ Maybe a billionaire on a shopping spree, luxury bound and spending free, rolling about with bling and scree. Or I’d give it all away to charity. What would it be, what would it be? ~ A philosopher would be great, solving life’s mystery, intellectually bound and thinking free, cleaning up mankind’s debris. And debate all who disagree. When will it be, when will it be? ~ But I’m not, I’m just me, homeward bound and mostly free, curious of complexity. Loving and loved I guarantee. Who could it be, who could it be, it’s you and me!
The pressure’s on to write another. The question is; why do I bother. I wake each day before sunrise, colors burst before my eyes. ~ From black to purples then reds galore, the depths of each I shall explore. Orange and yellows welcome pale blues, clouds frame the futures clues. ~ Thoughts of dreams now come to light, yesterday’s dread now out of sight. Rhyming words soon fill my head. Verses form when the sleep is shed. ~ I ponder what this day will bring. I’ll sway in time as the birdies sing. I hope a love poem’s seeping in. Thinking of my sweet I start to grin. ~ She slumbers while I meet with dawn. The beauty of each I am drawn. Though today my mind’s a bit a-flutter, perhaps tomorrow I’ll write another.
I sit at the kitchen table waiting for thoughts to come. So far none’s forthcoming; I’m hoping there’ll be some. Time is quickly passing as I stare off into space. If wasting time were a sport I know I’d win the race. ~ But words don’t run on tracks and thoughts know no time. But if patience is a virtue then waiting is no crime. Procrastination is a different thing, results will find away. It’s a choice that we make to give away our say. ~ Yesterdays’ may be gone but our actions will remain. Mistakes made along the way will leave a lasting stain. We wake each day to change, thinking everything’s the same. But time moves only forward and tomorrows’ we cannot tame. ~ We’ll take our deepest breath and dive in head first. We try to make the biggest splash to satisfy our thirst. The volumes fill up fast, their content is our own. The good we see in others reflects on how we’ve grown. ~ The time is getting late and I’m fading fast. Why must the future wait while sleeping off the past? So I’ll wait another day for something new to write. The winter blues are passing and mornings looking bright. ~ Optimism’s on the rise though heights often chill. Pessimism is an easy fall but the bottom is no thrill. Windows will soon be open and fresh starts will appear. And those webs in the attic just need the spring to clear.