Childhood ended in fire and rainlong endless Summerslazing between logsand salty raftlaughing with friendsas we racedpell melltowards teenagerhoodwithout a careand many hopesliving momentsthat stretched foreverinto years awayfrom the sandand the saltand the wheeling gulls,fifty years latermy eyes leak in fire and rainthinking backand smilingdeep in my heartat the memoriesheld close
Poetry
I have been writing poetry since the 2nd grade. Why stop now?
Poetry
Caught Up in The Beauty
Each breathtaking momentoxytocin rich vibrationscoursing through my veinseyes closed in the embraceof a beauty deep withinrolling over me warmand then it is goneleaving a lingering sweetnesshead to toe,music can do thisthe pipes of Wuauquikuna,Tori Amos,the departed goddess Sineadnow singing harmonywith Delores amongst the stars,and simplicity itself,a small red nosethat peeks
Poetry
Scritch Scritch
Santa Claus was roundand red about the middlewhite beard flowingover straining buttonsheld up by the joyhe brought. I am no Santajust an elder geekwhite beard flowinginto my left earpushing my glassesaskew as I walk. Beards are itchybut necessaryI thoughtat 20 belowuntil I scratchmy chin raw. And grab the razor… ml’25
Poetry
Iris
Iris walks a dark pathbetween bravadoand flight of fearstepping softlybetween the grenadesshe thinksare being lobbedinto her pathfrom behindher left shoulderalways lookingout from beneatha stray lockdraped overher sad smileas she walks. Iris lives silentlya song in her headunspoken lyricsand a rhythmonly she hearsechoing in the corridorsof brickand broken plasterthat line her
Poetry
A Thousand Diamonds
A thousand diamonds glitteron obsidian Coco Chanelwould have been proud of,stretching ahead into the streamof mustard yellow streetlightflickering in the blastof Mother Nature’s breathyelling silently “Enjoy the raintomorrow it will be iceand snow!”,coating the worldin ivory marshmallowuntil the shoots of Springwrestle a footholdbetween the cracksof the sidewalkwhere I walk. ml’25
Poetry
A Greeting of Leaves
I walked out this morningto a rustle in the treetopslight wind from the northspiralling the last maplesearthward in unison,a carpet from abovedescending around mehouse buildingfor the queen beeas she prepares to sleepunder the white blanketjust ahead. ml’25 (we have snow in the forecast for Sunday) (original image from pixabay.com)