Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Poets United/Midweek Motif -- Watershed Moment

Watershed Moment

the time the earth stood still      all air sucked from the room

 the merry-go-round stopped     they told me the water got hot for sure

 no one knew exactly what happened     it was said it couldn't happen

 not then at that moment     not to him      perhaps to another

 still his body was laid cold      upon the slab     my touchstone

 my anchor      my love      the life had gone out

 the world grew dark                    ... the young king was dead




that was the moment you asked about       but did you really want to know

some had seen him just before      said he was great relaxed and in great spirits

still the phone rang and rang      just to say he was dead   no longer alive on the planet

but I knew no other      the one the only      the other member of my tribe

 perhaps it was then our world fell apart      numb without feeling

the impossible happened                 you arranged for the mariachis to play

his favorite song              the one about the little bird                     La Poloma




it seemed he would appear      sing along      he would not let us sing alone

that only happened in my imagination          he did not appear

 he was gone for good             had sung his final song

said he made a good party for the boys          and now his days were done




it is said we never really know until someone is gone              it is true

or least it was for me          i took my life for granted          thought it would always be

the time the earth stood still        all air sucked from the room

 the merry-go-round stopped          there was a silence you could eat

 nothing was ever the same                                     ...especially not me

August 30, 2015

Saturday, August 29, 2015

August 29, 2015 The Sunday Whirl/ Change--Poets United

Change
sleep eluded me      my mind raced through many thoughts

would not stop                i am not always aware of where it begins

last night it began        with the idea of change        how it can sneak 

                                                                                 up on you


the solider is on watch      he is tired drops his head and falls asleep

it seems the moment he closes his eyes                 change is there

rearranging the furniture       just when he has gotten it the way he wants it

if there is one thing       humans don't like                it is change

and it is the one thing we can count on                 i dare not speak

not a word               for fear more change                will come


when change knocks on your door invite her in     your will hear

the tap of the heel of her shoes as she crosses the floor

the hem of her skirt lightly brushes the ground       set a place for her

at your table                        keep her close


it's not a big deal really...

the revolving door of life                but it can cause such unhappiness

the one so easy to love     to share all my secrets with          my friend

when together           you find us chirping                our arms entwined

lost in whispers


do you see the large green worm            crawling on the wall nearby

                               does he overhear our conversation

I carefully pick him up and set him on an amber leaf in the garden

your loss fosters the feeling of rot in me       leaves a large hole in its' place

August 29, 2015









Sunday, August 23, 2015

August 23, 2015 The Sunday Whirl/The Making of Memories

The Making of Memories

above taos mountain              hanging in the night time sky       the golden moon

a perfectly chiseled object      true to the artist's hand          the sky an inky blue black

the stars luminous                   the music stopped                 the breeze so gentle

it hardly moved the leaves      the party over                       people drifted away

can you say                    one is superior to another             when all is said and done

each one unique                       people                                  places or things

we puzzled over each               there was no winner            stains were created

wine was spilled                       it was no hollow celebration       no one was foreign

we came together                     friends and neighbors                 memories were made

August 23, 2015

Note:  Today I am not feeling too creative...but I gave it a try...and still I wasn't able to use all the words...my brain seems to be jelly?











Thursday, August 20, 2015

August 20, 2015 Writer's Digest/Tools of the Trade

Tools of the Trade

to collect the tools I need                  i exchange the paddle for a brush

trade the wrench for imagination        i'll need a little custard to celebrate

have no need for a robot     no need indeed           what i need is human

thoughts                        feelings                             & responses

i won't quibble about where to start              i will start at today's beginning

just where i left off yesterday                         at a glance i would say

i begin at the head            move to the heart                   and by day's end

i will have gone only so far       not nearly far enough     but it will have to do

one day in the journey          that is my life          as i go about creating a soul

August 20, 2015









Wednesday, August 19, 2015

August 19, 2015 Poets United Midweek Motif/Silence

Silence

the sound of silence             never broken        i call your name

there is no answer                the sun rises in the morning      silently

shines all day                        the fires are raging              animals flee

the smoke hard to breath       sorrow's cry                 hard to hear

the end is written on the wind                        i listen for your coming

watch the horizon       the dust rising              the sound of silence

paints spectacular sunset                                 orange ribbons

woven round my heart      still beating            slowly the darkness

smothers the day        for the sound of silence     i keep listening

alone in my dreams          silently sleeping      angels not too far away

i call your name                there is no answer       only silence in the night


August 19, 2015        

Monday, August 17, 2015

August 17, 2015 The Sundays Whirligig/Old Cobblestone Street

Old Cobblestone Streets

on old cobblestone streets       we strolled in the shadows        mariachis played 

songs of the heart                     it was a journey to mexico       so many years ago

you sped away in the first motor car                 i missed the chance to go with you

suddenly i was alone in a foreign country                    i did not speak the language

later we met for dinner                  danced until midnight                we were young

our lives stretched before us          or so we thought                        we had no idea 

it would all end so soon at the mortuary                   sometimes there are no clues

no warnings             about the road ahead                  ...what dangers maybe waiting


it was morning                  early fall                            my favorite time of year

the phone rang              i answered                the party on the other end of the line

spoke in a language      i could not understand          confused i hung up the phone


it rang again              then i recognized your voice         you said darling... he is dead

the words so final        no more questions asked                         what was the point

you told me the ending                  what difference did the story make

the who what when or where         i am not a magician                           yet things 

...and people have often disappeared       not to reappear          alone now in the shadows           

i have told you the ending        mariachis still sing from the heart       romance is in the air

August 17, 2015



Sunday, August 16, 2015

Augsut 16, 2015 The Sunday Whirl #212/ Children's Games --Poets United

Children's Games

the sack       that once held treats       lay empty by the door

we scattered the loot              the feast of candies 

shared them equally           the idea of ghosts and goblins     

empty stories         made up to amuse children

darkness can generate fears           and we were frightened

yet we laughed       as we tricked or treated through the streets

on halloween       especially our own brand of horror     

customes and masks           then squeals of laughter      

children's games          innocent enough                   the bar 

was always raised             who was brave         who was not                   

once started                there was no escaping                  

the laughter of children          the running through the streets                                                  

August 16, 2015