little things

Empty Lot

Our empty lot’s not empty at all.
There’s a tree that’s big and tall.
It’s a place that kids love to share.
It’s on my street so mom needn’t care.

We spend sunny days in the shade.
There’s lots of dreaming in forts we made.
There’s bunches of dirt to dig deep holes.
Rainy puddles for toy fishing poles.

Our empty lot really has it all,
We hide and seek and sometimes play ball.
It’s the place where adventures begin.
A fence to keep the city out and us in.

We’ve bugs and spiders, squirrels and cats.
There’s soft grass to sit for quiet chats.
We see dogs on leashes and birds in the sky,
Some tweet, sing sweet, bark, run and fly.

There’s rope jumping girls and running boys.
Everyone brings their favorite toys.
Weeds make jungles for our tiny men.
Tiny cars get lost, then are found again.

A place on Sundays for dads to mow.
A place anytime where friendships grow.
When the days fun is done, we all say goodnight.
To our good old friend, under the street light.

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A Past Deserved

A walk along the shore,
and a visit to the past.
Tides are changing quickly.
The future’s coming fast.
~
With every step a second,
the miles pass us by.
Hills climbed now distant,
racing toward the sky.
~
Blink and moments missed,
sit and feet skipped.
Always more is needed.
And yet we came equipped.
~
This quest, never ending,
measurements observed.
Time shared with others;
is the length deserved.

~*~
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365 / 1

Mother’s Day comes in May,
the perfect time of year.
Flower’s blooming everywhere,
share a bunch and spread the cheer.
~
Yet moms are here every day,
perfect from day one.
They watched us bloom from nowhere.
And their sharing’s never done.
~
So, one day a year don’t forget:
flowers, lunch and, of course, a card.
All those things are everywhere.
It shouldn’t be that hard.

~*~
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Patterns, Patterns, Patterns

Patterns, Patterns seen, felt and heard,
some imaginary, some absurd.
Some are real and some deceive,
some are made to make us believe.
~
Time has a pattern, we call it time.
Life has a pattern, two sides of prime.
Joy’s pattern runs every other cycle.
The space between varies by psychal.
~
Identifying patterns is a chore or a game.
Seen from afar they all look the same.
Personal patterns are for us to decide.
Why be camo with nothing to hide?

~*~
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Get Moving, Slow Down

Old faces with familiar habits,
stare at me from the past.
The memory’s now so far away.
Their lessons now close at last.
~
A wrinkle in time times many,
blur the scars of choice.
The bleeding now in disguise.
The heart now sees its voice.
~
A ticking clock ticks equally.
Its hands know no master.
Moments are for all to share.
The habitual consumed faster.
~
Pontiication’s a double edge sword,
thoughts dissected but time’s cut.
A balance is needed but not to weigh.
But to digest what’s in thy gut.

~*~
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I Would If

If today were to be my first,
where would my path lead?
Would it be a quest for good,
or a race for lust and greed?
~
If today were to be my last,
what regrets must I endure?
Would there be too few to count,
or too many to be sure?
~
If today I could have chosen,
why wouldn’t it be the same?
Would a quiet day with friends be best,
or to suffer tomorrow’s shame.

~*~
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Timely

While searching for time I lost my mind.
With days to pass I’ve seconds to find.
A second helping or a second chance,
my heart’s ticking my feet yell dance.
~
Nature’s music fills my ears.
A show of hands notes the years.
A watch found strikes back at me.
Its shattered face says nothing’s free.
~
Beneath this glass all is well.
Time moves on and yet still I dwell.
Alarm bells ringing, my hour’s been found.
Wind me up, I’m timely bound.

~*~
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Springing Into Action

Mowers, blowers and flame throwers, it’s time to clean my yard.
Spring is here, just once a year, so it’s really not that hard.
Leaves and weeds and other debris will all just disappear.
And it only takes an hour or so, but my neighbors all live in fear.
~
The police get called and a laugh we share, when the yelling’s done.
The officer gave the thrower a try and had never had such fun.
The smoke finally clears; my work is done; it’s time now to relax.
I think I’ll wear shorts today and take off these flame-proof slacks.

~*~
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Sick Day

~

Bright sunny day, nothing to do.
Stuck at home in bed with the flu.
Watched TV as long as I could.
And did some homework, like I should.

.

I tossed and I turned, sipped some tea.
The warm fall day was mocking me.
Temperature stable, chills no more.
Then a knock on my bedroom door.

.

It was mom come to check my head.
Not hot or cold, then out of bed.
I passed her test, done with my rest.
Going outside will be the best.

.

But that is not to be the way.
Had to stay in another day.
Picked at supper, slept through TV.
Dad tucked me in then read to me.

.

Just to make sure that I’m all right.
Mom checked on me all the long night.
Slept Okay, woke ready to go.
But to do what I didn’t know.

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Was really bored by midday.
Ran out of things alone to play.
Then found a key looking for more.
I tried every single door.

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I checked and checked every lock.
I even tried the grandfather clock.
Every drawer, box and chest,
I checked them all, I did my best.

.

Found no treasure, just this old key.
At least it was something to amuse me.
With just minutes before my show,
Thought of another place to go.

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The dusty, dark, spooky attic,
No place to be, when you are sick.
Turning the knob ever so slow,
Not sure if I wanted to go.

.

I’ve never been up there alone.
Then opened the door to the unknown.
Creaky stairs beneath my cold feet.
Dangers unknown that I might meet.

.

Darkness at the top of the stair.
Felt for the switch, I hoped was near.
With a flick my fear gone away.
More to explore on my sick day!

.

Much the same as when last here,
Boxes and cobwebs everywhere.
But not a lock to be found.
I searched and searched all around.

.

But in a dark corner never seen,
A little door painted green.
It had no slot for any key.
Opening it was up to me.

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I admit I was very scared.
I stood for minutes and just stared.
Then lifting the latch, my hands shake.
Could this be another mistake?

.

Opened the door, hinges squeak.
Stuck in my head to take a peek.
The room’s empty, nothing at all,
Except a shelf high on a wall.

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Found an old wobbly chair nearby.
Standing worried, reaching too high.
Pulled down the box hidden on shelf.
More than ever proud of myself.

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I put in my key and it fit.
But wasn’t ready to open it.
I brought the box back to my room.
Into the light and out of the gloom.

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Box on desk, took key from pocket.
Put it in slot, turned to unlock it.
Opened the lid ever so slow.
Not sure if I wanted to know.

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What treasures lie hidden from view?
Something good or a pile of goo.
Lid half-open, footsteps I hear.
Then closed the lid when mom came near.

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Mom opened it up, said to me;
“That’s no place for a dragon to be.
I’ve looked high and low, all over,
For the dragon Gramp’s called Rover.

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He wasn’t a creative guy.
But could pluck dragons from the sky.
But only when they’re very small,
Safe in hand and curled in a ball.

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Then hid for a terrible day,
When there are demons to chase away.
You can visit, never at night,
That’s when dragons grow, in moonlight.

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So keep it tiny in its box –
Or they get huge and tough as rocks.
Some are sweet, most others mean.
That’s why it best to keep unseen.”

.

Closed the lid before I could see.
She turned the lock and kept my key.
“You don’t need to go by yourself.
Attic’s safe with dragon on shelf.

.

Put the box back and close the door.
And try not to think of it anymore.”
Back downstairs, ready for bed.
But now there’s a dragon in my head.

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They can be all colors or shapes,
Some are purple and round like grapes.
Some are short, some tall as a tree,
Some are small and cute just like me.

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I’m glad there’s a dragon upstairs.
Now I can sleep without nightmares.
Not such a bad sick day at all.
I got better and had a ball.

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Now when nothing to do or see.
I don’t have to search for a key.
You don’t need keys to unlock a door.
That’s what imagination’s for.

~*~

The End

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Natures’ Poetic Puzzle

Why can’t I be a bumble bee?

Bumbling about, nectar’s free

I could hover or dash in a flash

Come home to a queen with my golden stash

 ~

I’d love to be a robin on the first day of spring

I’d soar from my nest and into the sky I’d sing

Perhaps a baby bunny, nibbling on fresh greens

I’d hop from clump to clump napping in-between

 ~

Maybe a child on their first new bike

That new sense of freedom that’s what I’d like

Until, of course, the inevitable fall

Some try again, some not at all

 ~

I want to be a billionaire

Living life without a care

A mighty oak would be grand

Or Saguaro cacti, kings of the sand

 ~

But I’m not, I’m just me

Thankful for the nature that I see

Writing of things I can’t be

Content with the puzzle of poetry

~

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Cuckoos Clock

Hands rise

Weights fall

Chimes sing

Birds see

Cuckoos all

`

Keys twist

Springs wind

Gears mesh

Spindles turn

Hands unkind

`

Travel on

Sunny face

Divided lines

Hide numbers

Perpetual race

`

Hands fall

Weights rise

Chimes strike

Birds die

Cuckoo’s wise

`

Keys open

Spring trap

Hours Chime

Birds sing

Hands clap

`

Travel off

Years shock

Number’s turn

Time winds

Cuckoos clock

~

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Distractable

I woke before the sun.
To have my morning fun.
But I couldn’t see my pad.
And my memory’s really bad.
~
I waited for the light.
To free me from the night.
But my pencil disappeared.
And my memory is as feared.
~
I found a piece of chalk.
But then I saw a hawk.
I forgot the task at hand.
I’m sure it would be grand.
~
I took a step outside.
The hawk flew off to hide.
A squirrel then ran past.
Man, are those guys fast!
~
The chalk now is dust.
My morning’s now a bust.
The sun’s now getting high.
And I now wonder why.

~*~
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Morning Triku #178B ~ Change

Cool

A warm winter day,
snows melting, Spring’s on the way.
Good or bad, let’s play.
~

Lukish

Work’s a place to go;
when you can’t afford better,
or work is your life.
~

Heated

When left in the dark,
Most people will light matches.
Then it all burns down.

~*~
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Bedtime

The time of the day that’s bittersweet.

Resting our heads, eyes and feet.

Day’s not over much left to do.

Watch TV or go to the zoo.

~

I’m not tired, it’s not too late.

Just a few hours, that’ll be great.

I’ll clean my room, music down low.

Fold some laundry, put on a show.

 ~

So many things better than sleep,

Reading a book, taking a leap.

Or have a snack by candlelight.

Why must we always waste our night?

 ~

I’m not ready for bedtime yet.

I might miss things that I’ll regret.

Things are missed when you close your eyes.

Can’t see stars or watch the sunrise.

 ~

If nights awake I’d sleep all day.

I’ll have no time for friends or play.

I guess if there’s a choice to make –

I’ll sleep at night, spend day awake.

~

The End

*

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Waiting Season

In like a lion and out a lamb,
Spring is needed; February can scram.
March isn’t great but it could be worse,
at least it’s the end of our winter’s curse.
~
April’s deceiving, warmth we presume.
May is delightful, life is in bloom.
June is my favorite, the days extra-long.
July is summer with nights full of song.
~
August is hot and September’s up for debate.
October’s chilly but the colors are great.
November and December are both full of cheer.
Then I wait for the lamb to start my new year.

~*~
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