 Daffodils
The Frilled Cup Faces Hold A Bold Question. Why? The Spray Of Petals Register Shy Surprise At The Reply. You Are Chosen To Bring Fair Spring, And Ease The Frosty Earth With Nature‘s Mirth. First To Bloom, First To Fade, You Retire To Shade, In The Snug Bulb That Magic Made, To Come Again In A Golden Host, Just When You’re Needed Most.  Ambiance
Dawn Rain Has Blown By, Leaving The Sunrise A Gilded Thumb In The Sky. I drink My Tea And Wonder Which Power Will Decide, Morning Gold, Or Misty Grey, As Slowly, The Veil Of Cloud Draws Away, To Reveal The Strength Of Day.  2 AM
This Is The Hour Of Sweet Repose, When No One Knows What Comes Between Sleep And Dream. In Darkness, My Rooms Become A Mystery Of Form Without History, And Spirits That Haunt My Day Hold Sway. This Life I’ve Made Is A Kingdom Of Shade, Far From What I know, My Morning Self A Show Of Bright Light, To Chase Away The Night.  Head Carved Colorado Alabaster 12" High X 33" Circumference On Ebonized Walnut Base Words To Live By
‘Beauty Is, As Beauty Does’, I heard For Years, And For Years I diligently Did, But Am No More Beautiful Than I was As A Kid. So What’s The Deal? Was Any Thing They Told Us Real? ‘Eat Your Veggies, And Live Forever’, Patently A Useless Endeavor. Oh, Well, Let’s Take A Break. Pass Me The Cake, And We’ll Go Straight To Hell.  Rode Rage
Busy San Mateo Puts Me In A Tizzy. The Street Is So Lumpy Bumpy, It Hurts My Back, Its Like Driving On A Rail Road Track. I’m In My Usual Hurry, But Worry My Axle Will Crack. The City Is Built On Sand, There’s Little Solid Land, So Roads Sag, Crack And Bend Faster Than Crews Can Mend Or Repave. My Friend, The Situation Is Grave. Slow Down, Or We’ll Collapse The Town.  Monday In March
Up Before The Sun, To Do What Must Be Done. I have To Get An X-ray, My Doctors Say, To See Beneath My Skin, And Check What’s Going On Within. I will Either Live Or Die, So Let Them Try To Cure My Ills With Pills And Such, Before They Must Do Too Much, In Hot Desire To Drag Me Through Surgical Fire. I put Myself In Their Hands, And Strive To Meet Complex Demands. I have A Need To Live, And They Have Lots Of Life To Give.  Praise
The Book In My Hands Contains Drawings As Fine In Line As Spider Strands. The Binding Has Come Apart, But Each Page Is Etched In My Heart. For Delicate Thoughts And Subtle Wit, Nothing Can Exceed It. I would Be Joyous If The Work Was Mine, But It All Belongs To Richard Stine. Homage, Gentle Man, From A Devoted Fan.  Maintaining
Another Workman Coming, To Keep My Old House Humming. Fixing The Window And The Door, The Coolers And The Floor, To Mow The Lawn And Prune The Trees. I would Like Them Please To Go Away, But I hire And Pay Somebody Every Other Day. My Humble Person Needs Repair, Tended By Sage Physicians Who Patch And Mend Up Here And Down There, To Keep Me Upright In The Air. Both Dwellings Are My Only Home, Taking All I have To Give, So That I keep My Place To Live. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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