Rain. That’s alright.

Rain. That’s alright.

Rays ripping through your thick clouds today.  For a clear sky tomorrow.

And the sun will be seen.

Only Her.

In the midst of virtual relationships.  Of shared pictures and posted messages.  Of Birds, and Faces, and Picturegrams.

She picks up the phone.  And calls an old friend.  To listen to his voice.  As he speak to her. And only her.

red toy car

Remember when his fingers guided you up the wooden bridge.  His eyes watched you slide down.  His hands caught you on the other end of the bridge.  And carried you back up again and again and again.

Please be easy on him now.

He is still only a boy, only taller.  And you are still his red toy car, only bigger.

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Sliver of the moon (awaited)

From the deep midnight blue, would you shine upon us tonight?

From the deep midnight blue, would you delight us tonight?

From the deep midnight blue, would you bless us tonight?

Nature’s glorious act of globalization, we await tonight;

From all four corners of the earth, we await tonight;

To celebrate in silent unity, we await tonight.

When the moon shines upon us tonight.

Through the needle’s eye

Our words are threads.

With truth.  The thread runs freely.  It passes through the needle’s eye.

With lies.  The thread knots.  It gets stuck at the needle’s eye.

And the only way to free the thread is to cut the knot.

her darling darlings

She lays her darling darlings on the page.  Side by side.  At times she snuggles in a dot, at times a squiggle.

Her darling darlings, all so dear.

Some, perhaps, too dear.  She doesn’t let go.  Takes them back.  Back into her soul.

And lets the others run free.

Double Decker Bus

 ‘Beep, beep,’ goes your double decker bus.
Through dizzying streets, stifling traffic, deafening honks.

All week long.

Hey, you did good.

Now park on the side.  Go up to the deck.  And watch life go by, sipping tea and eating cake.

Have a good weekend.

Love’s anniversary

A yearly mark around a number, of a day, of a month, of a year; to celebrate love.

Some may need it.  But others don’t.

For honest love needs no reminder.

 

Mama, am I pretty

‘Mama, am I pretty?’ the little girl asks.

‘Yes, you are.  Prettier than the moon and the stars.  Prettier than the flowers and the butterflies.  Prettier than the rainbows and the clouds.  Prettier than the streams and the pebbles.

Prettier, prettier in my eyes than any, any boy will ever, ever see you.’

Back stage

In silence strums the solitude poet;

His words his strings, his pen his pick, his poem his song;

To be sung on stage by another, to an oblivious crowd.

He stands back stage.