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

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        

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

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

Augsut 14, 2015 Poets United Midweek Motif - Beauty/The Beauty of Patterns

The Beauty of Patterns

you say beauty is observed in patterns       patterns are created when a form is repeated

i fall in love with patterns      i see them everywhere                  i see them in the sky

not one cloud alone         but many                        some times close together

and sometimes scattered                                 cotton balls across the clearest blue

i see them across the land          looking closer                        i see them in my garden

wild and free              i see them in the grasses                            that grow in the fields

moving together in the wind                            they lean to the right and then to the left

tiger           tiger                  burning bright                  carry patterns in your fur tonight

directional patterns                          touch them with my fingers soft and shiny

                            patterns in your breath and in your heart beat

i place my hand on your chest                      feel the patterns in the rising and falling

i see the lovely patterns         on your wings        as you fly from one flower to another

you were there to witness the patterns                          created at the ending of a life

in the stillness of the moment       you saw the patterns on my cheeks traces of the tears

that ran down       the patterns created on the floor           as the tears crashed to the earth

you say it is beauty when patterns are observed             in my work i create them daily

Augest 14, 2015

Note:  Poetry is amazing, it is only in poetry, I can fly among the clouds, touch a tiger, and communicate with a butterfly.  These are only some small observations of what beauty is for me.