Hopes
Are
All
Stacked
In
A
Jumble,
Ready
To
Tumble,
Wood
For
The
Winter,
Food
For
The
Soul
To
Keep
Me
Going,
Never
A
Fear
Showing,
Taking
The
Chance
To
Again
Dance
Nimbly
Through
It
All,
And
Not
Fall.
My
Hopes Are All Stacked In A Jumble, Ready To Tumble, Wood For The Winter, Food For The Soul To Keep Me Going, Never A Fear Showing, Taking The Chance To Again Dance Nimbly Through It All, And Not Fall.
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I Got
On This Bus All Unprepared, From A Life Semi-shared, And Rode Across The Hills And Valleys Of Time Making Rhymes, But I Grew Older, And Doom Came To Sit On My Shoulder Before I Reached The Magic Answer, And Too Late, I Realized I Should Have Gotten A Transfer. Listening,
I Can See The Master As He Plays, Alive Again, Arms Outstretched, He Gazes Elsewhere, And Not At The Keys. A Big Man, Grown Heavy With Age, The Music A Controlled Rage Of Passionate Art, Totally, Completely, Owns My Heart. The Concerto Ends And With A Subtle Laugh, He Dissolves Once More Into A Photograph. Six
Crows Gather On The Far Horizontal Bar Of The Electric Pole, A Crucifix Of Power, Lighting The Dark Hour, Humming With A Zillion Ohms, Right Into Your Home, Promethean Fire, Blazing Through High Tension Wire, The Birds Unimpressed, Only Having A Rest. Solid
Rain Is Falling In New Mexico, Idly Turns To Snow, Then Changes Back Again, The Street Pocked And Flowing, Bare Tree Limbs Jeweled With Drops Glowing, Growing, To Fall And Be Replaced In Every Leafless Space. No
Pictures, Please, I’m Here To Catch A Little Ease, A Holiday From Pleasing Every Observant Soul As A Life Goal. I’ve Done My Best, But It Has To End, I Need A Rest, Until I Can Once More Pretend To Float Bodily On A Vagrant Breeze, So Darlings, No Pictures, Please. Love
Cooling, Not Yet Cold, Aging, Though Far From Old, One Day The Heart Turned Away And Forgot, And Love Was Not. Courage Faded In The Light That Burned Too Bright, And Silently, In The Night, Was Gone Before Dawn. Step
Into The Inner Bower Of The Flower And Dwell There For A Brief Hour, One With The Hidden, Secret, Visually Perfect, Delicate Power Of Beauty Painted In Glory, A Complex Story Striped, Aware And Erect, In Myriad Ways No One Suspects. |
AuthorJeanette Collins Archives
August 2024
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