Phantoms concealed within the mind’s records, Nostalgic memories etched in the mind’s pages, The memories shared with childhood friends, To rekindle the joys of moments of past Some faces have faded from the memories Phantoms concealed within the mind’s records, The forgotten names, remembrances…
Category: Miscellaneous
A Spell Banish Sadness – a Viator poem
Life is a series of deaths. The death of your love – Sadness, regrets, tears. Black chasm of bitterness. The faded dandelion wilts on its stalk. Life is a series of deaths. But from the greyed fronds Seed parachutes snatch breezes of newness. The baby…
The Lonely Lowly Swing/Hour 7
No longer do I hear the laughter of children nor the pattering of little feet racing to play with me No longer do I feel the warmth of little bums as they wriggle to find comfort on my wooden lap nor the squeeze of little…
This Month Was Too Long and It’s Only Getting Started
September morning sky hits the ground Clouds are fading away The has been something waiting to be found I have been kept at bay My step falls with a forgiving sound With every move I can feel your sway I don’t know what I’m…
Headlight
8:00 (Hour 1) Image PromptView Post Lines of light on railway tracks Can not hide the facts The darkness holds. The single light that blinds the deer The eerie blast that fills air and Echoes through the night
VII- Bard
The twang of a lute summons all to the maiden though there are rumors, suspicions that it is not her words, nor song, nor beguiling dance that brings attention to her show It is the glimmer in her eye, the rose in her cheek, a…
Abel has come
Abel has come to visit me And I take him in the garden We go to the pond Abel counts the tadpoles We have reached eighty two And there are plenty more. We give up. Autumn has touched the trees with its little finger The…
HOUR 7: WHEN TALKING TO A BEAR
When talking to a bear It’s tough to listen Those teeth you know That peppered breath Like sandpaper It’s easy to lose track When talking to a bear You get roughed up in Rocks falling around Flutes shrieking Rabbits become an issue Hunger creeps in…
Dedicated to Emily
Where are you my little mermaid? I miss you so much. I have had so much desire to see you more often, to hug you, to touch your soft skin, to see your beautiful smile. I have seen your videos playing with your sister, Maddie,…
Lost Shaker of Salt
When “Margaritaville” comes on the radio, I always think of American tourists in towns like Ixtapa and Mazatlán, whooping it up at Senor Frog’s, with buckets of iced Coronas and peel-your-own shrimp. Clusters of Parrotheads in gaudy shirts, adorned with tequila bottles…