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 *Mara Light* Linger,
Take Time To Contrast And Compare Words Hovering In The Air, Grace Notes, Musical, Lovely Word Thoughts To Share Or Safely Keep, To Cherish Before You Sleep.
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 *Stara* Escha Van Den Bogerd Summon
The Will, Sit Very Still, And See What Oceans Of Wild Notions Drift Into Your Brain, Numerous As Rain, Impossible To Explain. Wrestle Them To The Floor, And Shape Them Into More Than Random Flashes Of Verbal Glory. Reach Out, Grasp A Thread, And Weave A Story.  I’m
Sick Today, So Haven’t Much To Say. I Caught A Bug, And The Only Drug Is Just To Sit, And Make The Best Of It. Work Goes Undone And That’s No Fun, But I’ll Shake Off This Wicked Spell, And In A Day Or Two, Be Well.  Newly
Mapped Collections Of Stars Crowd The Skies, Bright Reflections Stirring Distant Recollections Of Another Home, From Which, Long Ago, We Chose To Roam. With No Viable Planet Left, Folk There Bereft, Perhaps While Still Alive, We Flew Away To Again Survive, Basking In Another Sunglow, Until We Blow This Earth To Dust And Wander On, As It Seems Humans Must.  *Reclining Figure 2* Carved Tupelo 15 1/4" L X 6" H The
Sculptor Labors Every Day, In Clay And Steel And Stone. It’s Solitary Work, Usually Done Alone. They Breathe Filtered Air, Sand Surfaces In Running Water, Chisel, Carve, And With Cunning Skill, Construct A Form So Abstract It Seems The Norm, And Completely Real.  *Evelyn de Morgan* When
Will The Inner Voice Be Dumb, And No More Pretty Words Come To Mind? I Know The Heart Will Find A Way And Continue To Say, Listen, Look And See What Fragment Of Beauty Comes To Visit Me.  Just
A Trick Of The Night, An Edge Of Fright, A Slip On The Stair, Certain Something Is There, Surprise, Alarm, A Cold Fear Of Harm, The Various Darks A Shiver Of Sharks, Then The Light At The Landing Brings Clear Understanding.  *F. Michael Wood* The
Mind Engages In A Constant Reverie, Undirected And Free. Discipline Comes At A Cost, And Poetry Can Be Lost To Rules Taught In Schools. Few Will Care What Dreamscape You Quietly Share, Precious Words May Go Unheard, And Like Unrequited Love, Be Tucked Away For Another Day.  What
Did It Mean To Be The Queen, Fixed Symbol To Each And All? To Finally, With Grace, Lay The Burden To Rest, After Decades Of Doing One’s Best, Discard The Crown And Travel To Death’s Silent Town. Those Left Behind Will Bear The Grief, But Perhaps She Would Count It A Great Relief, Aboard A Shadowed Funeral Boat, At Last, No One Of Note.  I Drink
Tea And Note The Progress Of The Morning Sun, Music Plays And I Find Ways To Delay The Duties Of The Day. Tranquility Is Rare, And I Take Care To Hold It Near In These Worrisome Times, And Seek Solace In These Humble Rhymes. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
November 2022
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