This pre-war, post-war frame
Quaint summer garden
Exposed brick and beam
Uneven maple plank throughout
All hard as nails, I promise
Will never cry so hard as I
On this kitchen floor
Tag Archives: Poetry
A Wild Meander
I don’t want to hear the morn’ coming in; stay at bay.
At my pace, I’ll share my fruit with the wild; bid good day.
When the sun seems warm enough, out I’ll go; come what may.
Truth is, creatures know I can’t resist them; so I stray.
Fell: A Haiku
This…a rabbit hole,
a different dimension.
We…without an out.
periphery
Centered
At the Center
Who or What
Is?
Co
Early from work
To tell you how much you meant to me
I came
And you could not believe my words
Your words, I said
Meant so much to me that I gave my life
To help them along
Same: A Haiku
Surprising, and how!
To adore the very storm
who will destroy you.
Oh Words
Each of us
Each
(asserted, channeling Dr. Angelou’s assertiveness)
Is defined not by the dictionary-eyes of casual glancers
Nor by the information-containing codewords from our fathers
Fallen or otherwise
No
Each of us
Each
Is defined by the footstep-shaped letters we leave for others
And by the blessed word riding, wafting, if you will, on our very next breath
Intended or otherwise
Oh
Lefty
Uncertainty, my enemy -it roams inside my ribs.
I wonder with deep-seated fear, just how will I do this?
Though morning maketh all things new, by eve’ I dance decrepit
It seems the voice inside my head desires me unaccepted
Mother Road
What is the name of that road? The spirit and purpose of it? The one we approach, day in and day out, without hesitation?
Familiar with the smell of it, the distractions, attractions and tourist traps along the way, but unsure, in the dark, where to turn when it’s time, finally time, for a rest stop.
Trust, we must, the touch. The feel of our wheels we were gifted, from The Road of all roads, The Mother.
We have Saturdays 
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