poetry

Feathers of Time

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With a bow to fateful inspiration, I shall cast skyward, beyond the heavens and to the heart of a most divine princess. Though this arrow will not pierce nor blemish all that is pure. For it will levitate before her command, awaiting thoughtful reply. It is then thy arrow shall propel and traverse, returning to my waiting, wanting and out stretched hand. And with this most sacred and singular of tools I trust and follow; deserts and plains, rivers, forests, seas and frozen peaks where only the arrow dare soar, I do confidently tread. Upon the highest pinnacle I will see the light and be guided. Drawn by the heat of shared passions, we attract and we shall meld and mold, we will unite as one and become the bow, two parts equal. Tied with care and precision we are flexible and strong. The arrow does no wrong.

~*~

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Giggles and Tears of Joy

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I see your inner child; fragile and pure.
I’m the little smitten boy that rolls on your floor.
I give you dandelions every day in the Spring.
Summers had without a care on your backyard swing.

We blow bubbles and dance in tall wet grass.
School years of bliss blossom, too soon to pass.
Stealing first kisses, to the prom, home on-time.
Off to college enriching our minds, soon to be sublime.

We travel the world and fall in love anew.
We eclipse eternity; hand in hand, me and you.

~*~

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Poetic Ironies of Introduction

To whom it may inspire

To love a poet; pasts can be revised, futures imagined with exuberance and love, ah yes love, our’s sculpted in stone as the eternal benchmark for all others to hopelessly seek. The now will be forever envisioned in each other’s eyes and made more beautiful. Time will never simply tick away, but be the metronome of our heartbeats in sync. Though sadness inevitable for it is this love of life, love of love and love of words to express that may seemingly leave too little time for true love, it is not I assure you, for time can concentrate, intensify and encapsulate. Be my ecstasy and I forever yours. Two timers need not apply as heart breakers divide and multiply, others free to indulge and imagine with me a mutual double fantasy. Seeking inspiration, passions and enthusiasm with enthused inspired passion. Innuendo not implied for it is implicit. Thus is me, I conclude.

Hopelessly Hopeful…

 

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A Christmas Tail

Chapter 1 ~ the Beginning

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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I lay awake and tossed and turned.

Thinking of school and all I learned.

Letters and numbers and new friends,

I hope kindergarten never ends.

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My thought disturbed by shapes on the wall,

a moonlit dance, shadows big and small.

It pranced to my table that’s set for tea.

There’s a seat for Teddy and Dolly plus one for me.

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It climbed the chair with a dancer’s grace.

She must be a girl with a whiskered face.

Dolly left some crumbs on her plate.

When I remembered it was too late.

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I Left a treat each night for a week.

I tried staying awake to catch a peek.

I’ll call her Martha, like our homes bride

But when I giggled she ran to hide.

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Chapter 2 ~ New Friends

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The days passed, she’d visit most nights.

She kept unseen until I turn out the lights.

She knows I’m cozy in my warm bed.

She smiles and winks, thankful she’s fed.

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One night I waited, still in my chair.

Starlight warmed the chilly night air.

Eyelids dropped like the falling moon.

I hope my visitor gets here soon.

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Night turned to-day, feet cold on the floor.

I missed my friend but goodies no more.

The next night I brought a cookie to bed.

I woke with my new friend by my head.

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Days got colder, Christmas was near.

I looked forward to the snacks we share.

Each passing night our friendship grows.

We chat and laugh, I scratch her nose.

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Thanksgiving’s past, Santa’s on his way.

The tree goes up, brighter each day.

We’re happy to welcome all our new guests,

while I wore my new colonial dress.

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I tell them of the homes long past,

Of all that’s lived here, my family last.

I tell them of their history.

But never a word of Martha and me.

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On the last day of school before the break,

we celebrated with carols and cake.

We shared cards and hugs then on our way.

We’re off to the bus and our long holiday.

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Glad to be home, much to be done.

Baking and wrapping with mom will be fun.

I think Christmas is the best time of year.

There’s lots of visits from friends far and near.

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Chapter 3 ~ Good and Bad

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It’s not just gifts that makes Christmas best.

It’s all the excitement, no time for rest.

One snowy day mom and I went to town.

Main Street’s so merry, never a frown.

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When we returned from our last-minute shop,

we saw a truck with a light on top.

A man in a hard-hat talked with my dad.

They both spoke quietly and looked very sad.

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My parents whispered, thought I didn’t hear.

Something’s was broken too much to repair.

Said we’re leaving, where they don’t know.

I loved our home and didn’t want to go.

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I gave the last tour on that very sad day.

We finished our cocoa with little to say.

Mom read aloud then kissed me goodnight.

Dad tucked me in, turned out the light.

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I lay sobbing at the loss of our house.

No new friends, no Martha the mouse.

I then had a plan and ran for my bank.

Shook out the coins and my little heart sank.

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Martha came close, she knew I was sad.

I forgot the snacks but she wasn’t mad.

We counted my pennies in moonlight,

then crept downstairs later that night.

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We tucked my bank under the tree.

It’s for our old house from Martha and me.

But one last thing and then back to bed.

A snack for Martha and a pat on her head.

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My dad woke me early that Christmas day.

I knew he was sad, he smiled anyway.

We met mom in the hall, headed downstairs.

We all acted happy while holding back tears.

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Chapter 4 ~ New Beginnings

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The cookies were gone, Santa was here.

Beneath the tree, present are there.

But shocked to see something I’d never seen.

There are stacks of coins, sleeping mice in between.

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They ate Santa’s cookies then took a nap.

All snuggled together in the Christmas wrap.

Sleeping soundly until mom screams.

Then all were awakened from their dreams.

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Martha stood out front and winked at me.

She waved me over to come and see.

The piles of treasure they found last night.

That was lost under the floorboards out of sight.

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The Generals treasure, his coins of gold.

There’s enough to fix our homes splendor of old.

Martha saved our house and Christmas too.

She helped write this rhyme to share with you.

*

We wish you the best this holiday.

May all your days be just your way.

We’re glad to have shared our time as one.

From all of us here at our house of fun.

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The End    

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All the World’s a Stage

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Denying that the stairs to high,
spiraling downward to the sky.
Anger leads a path that’s long,
steps unseen when we’re strong.
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We bargain for another day,
acting out our sold out play.
Compressed beneath the blanket of night,
depressed are we for its lack of light.
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Stages clear when curtains fall,
the final bow shared by all.
Accepting now what is our grief,
death no longer beyond belief.

~*~
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Burned

~*~

A human experiment toggled with a switch,

whether on or off, both have a glitch.

All begin similar, few end the same.

Starting lines differ when power’s the game.

*

Whine and complain for lack of a prize,

lives do vary through different eyes.

Have or have not is how scores are kept.

The future was bought, half our world slept.

*

Science now smolders, art soon to follow,

morals and values are promises hollow.

Winner take all, though little to gain,

when the heat of the sun boils our brain.

~*~

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Just Through the Trees

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I knew some people, just like you

Not just like you but as you do

Drinkers of bottles, quite a few

Sniffers of dust and of glue

Shooters and cutters thought they flew

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North or South can’t beat the heat

An army of one can’t beat a fleet

Running noses and stinky feet

The world’s colder on the street

Luxury’s just a clean white sheet

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In the dark without a clue

Off the bus short a shoe

Just one beast in this zoo

Why are all the colors blue?

Life is odd, just like you

~*~

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Waking Up

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Waking up’s the best time of day.

What will I wear, what will I play?

It’s time to think of things to do.

First find my pants and missing shoe.

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Wipe from my eyes the sleeps last trace.

I’ll brush my teeth, wash hands and face.

My bed’s made, teddy’s on pillow,

But one last hug before I go.

~

To the kitchen, mom will be there,

Making breakfast for us to share.

We chat about things to be done,

Some of it work, some of it fun.

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Finish dressing put dreams away.

It’s time to start a brand new day.

That’s why waking up is the best.

But can’t do that without your rest.

~

The End

*

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Driftwood

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Built a boat with boards of wood,

made with junk I knew was good.

Drifted on the seven seas,

searching for the birds and bees.

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Saw new lands; north, east, south and west,

returning home, thought it best.

My ship now sits on a stand,

fearful of the careless hand.

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Now if this vessel were too to break,

with scraps of wood I will remake.

Fitted then in a case of glass,

reflecting time for all who pass.

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And if this glass too shall smash,

its shards of glass tossed to the trash.

With broken sticks pulled from within,

my craft of new will then begin.

~*~

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