|
|
 *Richard Stine* Poetry
Is The Thought Within A Thought, And Ought To Examine What Hides Inside, Shy, Reluctant, Awareness Coming To Exist, Impossible To Resist, In The Mind A Pure Drop Of Knowing Growing, Every Word True, Speaking Just To You.
0 Comments
 The
Sun Wheeled Up From The Valley Cup And Topped The Mountain Crest, Headed West, But A Cloud Bank Moved In And The Light Grew Thin, Then Went Away, Leaving Only A Rainy Shawl Of Gray, Knitted Just For Today.  Traveling,
The Road Unraveling, No Map To Unfold, No Sign To Behold. Hurry, Must Go, Plow Through The Snow, Drive Into Rain On A Highway Of Pain, A Dirge In My Brain, To Visit The Dead, Ten Miles Ahead.  With
Great Care, I Fill Out Life’s Form, Age, Where Born, But I’m Not Quite The Norm. Round Object? Square Slot? I’m Not Exactly It, And I Can’t Squeeze Myself To Fit. Sorry, I’m Unable, And Just A Stranger At The Statistical Table.  I’m
Muddling Through Some Version Of The Flu. Yesterday, Too Tired To Take A Shower, I Went Back To Bed And Slept For 24 Hours. Here I Am Today, Trying To Make It, Since I Have Edits To Do, And Laundry, Too. To Stay Current The Trick, It Seems, Is Never Get Sick.  A
Panoply Of Scars And Bruises Testify To The Myriad Abuses Of The Flesh Necessary To Mesh With All That Is Required, And Yes, The Heart Grows Tired. Press On, This Day Is New, And There’s Still Vital Work To Do.  *Progressive Composite* Each 14" X 14" Oil On Linen Turn
Away From The Humdrum Everyday, And Let Your Mind Slip Into Play, With Lyrics From A Lovely Song, Or Poetry Cherished When Life Goes Wrong. Art Can Nimbly Soothe Every Care, And Wherever You Are, It’s Always There, To Savor Alone, Or Even Better, To Share.  Brew
Me A Potion To Make Me Young Again, Taller, Please, And Fashionably Thin, And I’ll Begin Over, Living On The Edge, Reaching For The Prize As It Sped By, All As Rich As Heavy Cream, Every Day A Waking Dream. I Can’t Go Back, But I Can Close My Eyes And See A Thousand Blessed Yesterday’s, Caught In Golden Scraps Of Praise.  Today,
The Sun Was Nothing But A Frown, As Billowed Clouds Pressed Down Over The Town, But The Tulip Blades Don’t Care, Absorb What Light Is There And Curl Around The Hidden Flower, Awaiting A Brighter Hour.  Been
Someplace Else Before I Came Here, And Never Fear, I Might Go Back If I Perceive A Lack In The Atmosphere. I’m A Rolling Stone, Clear To The Bone, So Don’t You Cry When I Say Goodbye. But Not Yet, My Pretty Pet. Give Me A Kiss And One Sweet Smile, And I May Stay A While. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
November 2022
|
RSS Feed