poetry

In the Clear

Today I’m lost and can’t find my way.
I look toward the sky to guide the day.
The sky was blue; I shared a smile.
Still, I’m lost but gained a mile.
~
I look to the ground; I’ve a path to find.
The ground was hard; my steps were kind.
Yet still I wander, walking on air.
My head’s in the clouds, inward stare.
~
I look straight ahead, my path’s now known.
Each step forward is another step grown.
Journeys all end, destination’s the same.
Directions clear, be glad you came.

~*~
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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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May Be Soon

April showers may bring May flowers.
But it ruined my new suede shoes.
I was going out for a first date,
but now I got the blues.
~
Car wouldn’t start and my bike had a flat.
My cell phone bill was long unpaid.
I walked for nearly an hour,
my nerves tattered and frayed.
~
I got to the movie, it was too late,
my date was nowhere in sight.
I turned around and headed back home.
I was hoping for an end to this night.
~
The rain was getting heavier;
the wind started to blow.
I huddled in an alleyway.
I waited for the storm to go.
~
A policeman stopped, just to check,
making sure I was O K.
I told him the whole story,
every detail of that day.
~
He gave me a lift to my house.
But my keys I had locked inside.
My wallet too was forgotten,
I then went for another ride.
~
I made a call at the station;
my mom must have gone out.
I then retold my story;
the cops looked on with doubt.
~
They stuck me in a crowded cell,
I was tired, wet and cold.
The others asked what I was in for.
My story again was told.
~
Some thought it was funny;
some thought I was a fool.
One said I was cute,
he thought my shoes were cool.
~
I didn’t sleep at all that night,
afraid of what might come.
I shivered there for hours,
my feet were getting numb.
~
My mother finally showed up,
she strolled in at around noon.
She yelled that I should grow up.
I said I may and May can’t come too soon.

~*~
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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.

.

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

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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.

.

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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Cherry on Top Sundries Shoppe

Every Sunday me and my Pop

Take a walk to the old sundries shop

Winter’s in boots and summer flip-flops

Anytime to the Cherry on Top

*

It’s not just a store, it’s so much more

A magic box filled with sundries galore

It’s everyone’s first and their last stop

All the time at the Cherry on Top

 *

Welcoming doors always polished bright

Welcoming all to their sundries delight

Every week is a brand new crop

Any time at the Cherry on Top

*

A place with things too many to list

Lipsticks for lips that want to be kissed

There are bouncing balls and bats that bop

All the time at the Cherry on Top

 *

Combs and brushes for hair and teeth

Halloween treats and Holiday wreaths

Baskets for bunnies with ears that flop

Any time at the Cherry on Top

 *

Row after row of this’s and that’s

There are racks for jackets, hooks for hats

Handles for brooms and buckets for mops

All the time at the Cherry on Top

 *

There’s cases packed with trinkets so bright

Batteries stacked for flashlights at night

They’ve got cards to send and cards to swap

Any time at the Cherry on Top

 *

Way at the back, there’s medicines there

Carefully mixed by people who care

They carefully measure, count and chop

All the time at the Cherry on Top

 *

Then the place – my favorite of all

It’s the lunch-counter, where I sit tall

Serving pie with whipped cream and gumdrops

Any time at the Cherry on Top

 *

They’ve cakes, cookies, turkey and roasts

My dad always gets; juice, eggs and toast

Sunday’s best at the old sundries Shoppe

I get my sunday, cherry on top

~

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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Seasonal Opinions

Springtime beckons to one and all;
life’s beginning, unlike the fall.
Evening’s crisp and tomorrow shines,
blooms hide the naked lines.
~
The air is fresh with skies of blue;
warmth thaws the winters’ view.
Days growing longer on a smiling face,
sunset walks set the pace.
~
Summer’s next, its appeal clear,
but cool it’s only one fourth the year.
Spring is best I must confess,
a shared opinion’s my seasoned guess.

~*~
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Inept

The world has changed while we slept.
The changes swift when once crept.
Boundaries crossed and overstepped.
A sea of red this world’s been swept.
~
Some have saved, some have prepped,
some have learned and others pepped,
some laughed while others wept,
the choice is freedom or precept.
~
With every end comes incept.
Those unbroken, will is kept.
Off the cliff we’ve now leapt.
Do we soar or blindly accept?

~*~
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My Hamper

It’s not just a bin for dirty clothes.

It’s a place to hide things where no one goes.

My favorite place for hide and seek.

No one ever dares to take a peek.

~

I could stay in there for a week,

But that’s too long not to speak.

And if I never change my clothes,

My hamper never fills, the pile never grows.

~

My hamper can be a chest for treasure.

With extra socks just for good measure.

Hampers are never quite big enough.

Always too small for all of your stuff.

~

The bigger the hamper the less room they take.

Fill it right up and room you’ll make.

Some hampers are big, some are small.

Some are just piles, some not there at all.

~

Some might have handles, liners or lids.

Some come with gadgets to keep out kids.

Hampers never hamper or get in the way.

They’re used for something each and every day.

~

Mostly an eyesore, mostly unseen.

Hidden in bedrooms, bathrooms or in-between.

They can be baskets or made of wood.

Plastic or metal but a bag’s just as good.

~

Hampers are magic – things disappear.

Then surprise, something old will be there.

A best friend to have on clean-up day.

They help to decide what can and can’t stay.

~

They can be luggage when away from home.

The smaller they get the further you roam.

Sometime my hamper is what I long to see,

A familiar moonlit shadow that keeps me company.

~

My hamper can be a rocket ship,

There’s always space for a lengthy trip.

Or submarine to explore the sea,

It can be anything; it’s up to me.

~

Some hampers have wheels for delicate dears.

Though not much help on dark cellar stairs.

They can be a target or a catcher’s mitt.

Or a moldy archive for clothes that don’t fit.

~

Sometime it sits lonely, quiet as a mouse.

Sometime screaming loudly – stinking up the house.

My companion always since I was very small.

The stories it could tell, we really had a ball.

~

If you’re sad or a little mad, I’ll share a secret trick.

Visit your trusty hamper and give it a little kick.

My hamper and I put on shows; I hope you all will come.

I sing and dance; make up tunes, my hamper’s the drum.

~

Sometimes hampers break, a leaning twisted thing,

Thrown away with no regard to all the joy they bring.

Replaced by a new one with very lofty goals.

Someday we might be friends when it gets some holes.

~

Whether sparse or cramped you need not have a fear,

The voids will always fill when imagination’s there.

Oh – I could wax poetically until the end of time.

But hampers full, its laundry day, time to end this rhyme.

~*~

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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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