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Lessons

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The more costly the watch the freer the time

The louder the song the looser the rhyme

Turn on the light half the world’s dark

Smell the gas we see with a spark

Life in a bubble called atmosphere

Poking holes without a care

Drink deep from fragile stemmed glass

Candlelit dreams with time to pass

To guess and be wrong a zero gain bet

The higher the proof the more wrong we get

To prove the proof a wasted equation

Pens against bombs can never be won

Words in the air unheard over fuss

Numbers on paper not to discuss

Lessons of life shared by all; never stand, never fall

Never swim, never sink, never thirst, never drink

Always bright much unseen, blind to details in-between

Never laugh, never weep, never dive unless it’s deep

Never leap in the melting caps ice

A lesson we can never learn twice

The End

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Questions

Which came first?

The egg or the hen, children or men,

now or then, the poet or the pen?

What comes last?

The future or the past, rising high or sinking fast,

a little fizzle or mighty blast, a crumpled sketch or final cast?

What is the end?

Goodbye to a cherished friend, a straight path or twist and bend,

a love note always meant to send, a dark void to descend

or love, joy and happiness to share and to lend?

These questions are the same for all but our answers will depend.

The End or Beginning

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Cloudy Ceiling

Dirty windows rattle overhead.

Broken switch won’t turn off dread.

A flower cart sleeps with gray canopy.

Blue hides beyond infinity.

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Tiny world, walls surround.

Door jambs swell, I am bound.

The smaller my cube the more I pick.

Yet droplets spill without a lick.

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Hunger consumes wasted words.

Cupboards cluttered with thirsty birds.

Procrastination wears heavy on my floor.

Stained and crumpled dreams clutter more.

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Showers will come. The well will fill.

Current flows once still.

Walls disappear. Windows clear.

The beyond invites, if I dare.

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The End

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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.

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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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A Day on the Farm

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The sun’s our clock, rooster alarm.

Up to start a day on the farm.

Fresh air and sunshine all long day.

Eat our breakfast then on our way.

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I put on my boots, coat and hat.

And find a glove under the cat.

Out the door to the bunnies hutch.

They eat  pellets they don’t like much.

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My dog follows, opens the door.

Sometimes gone for hours or more.

Jumping high, trips latch with paw.

The cutest thing I ever saw.

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Next we’re off to feed the plump hens.

Gather eggs, clean muddy pig pens.

We’ll hose it down then slop the sows.

Grab our pails and milk the cows.

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Feed the mare, sleeps in the sable.

I’ll ride her soon when I’m able.

First she’s brushed then gets oats and hay.

We do all these things twice a day

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In the garden, vegetables grow.

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Hannah Belles Silence –the beginning

Purple skies yell good night to their dozing sun.

Fire lights the shadows, the nights day’s just begun.

Shades pulled on lives within without the stars to guide.

A ball is had in the deep, dancing to rhythms of tide.

 

Partners forever splash to wash away the light

Din of life slowly fades to the deafening of night.

Eyes shutter, Door hinges squeak there last, and new hands draw air.

Breathing in the day’s last taste, dark of night’s only fair.

 

While others rest, days run on to beat the clock.

Gates alive awake the walks to open doors that need no lock.

Welcoming all workers be, busily buzzing to make life sweet.

Nights or days at Hannah Belles employ a tasty treat.

 

Chimes ring out in the square, alerting all to what’s behind.

Reminding all of what’s ahead and afoot and to jog the mind.

Bottomless pools dot the streets, journeys take forever.

There’s joyous voices all around and angry silence never.

 

Another day in Hannahville, they feed the smiles everywhere.

This factory called Hannah Belle glows without a care.

Whether color gloss or moustache size, styles change, lips stay the same.

Visitors wait in a thin line to leave robust and always glad they came.

 

 

First chapter from Hannah Belles Silence (Charlie passes the candy torch)

 Coming soon to virtual bookstore near you.

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New Day

When life adds lemons to salty tears,

One can blend with Tequila, slug a few beers.

These ades to aid will quench our cares,

Peeling the rind of all our fears.

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But mornings return, suns will rise,

Burning fog in heads and eyes.

A cure’s not a cure if demise.

Perhaps today lemonade’s wise.

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The End

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