He sang a song persistently Before the sun was up -- Kept singing oh so urgently While others slept in gentle peace I heard him clearly, though my fan Was blowing in the dark And through my torpor called and trilled Pulling my mind from dreams Making me surface and open an eye
He waited there outside my door As I left the house today Standing proudly straight and tall In his coat of red - and pointy cap He observed with a beady eye My trek to get into my car But first I turned and called his name And smiled with approving grin I saluted the cardinal who graced my day At the break of dawn again.
In my home where soft light glows And chocolate melting on my tongue No alarm’s cruel chime, just peaceful time Where silence soaks into my mind All day they filled my world With little hands, hugs and joy Sweet voices sharing every thought Each moment burning with their glee My heart full even as my energy scattered Like their toys across the living room floor But here, finally, the hours belong to me No one to answer to, no schedule to keep Transitioning into solitude I reach for chocolate to reward my day It melts on my tongue, unfurling my mind To wander where it wants Following threads of thought That got tangled in the beautiful chaos I find again the part of myself that I had gently given Without condition That grandparent giving Tomorrow will bring that bliss again But tonight I hold this quiet space To taste the sweetness of both love and rest One peaceful breath at a time
Wires slither, crawling up Sides of houses and weaving their way across rooftops. The village breathes through veins of blackened cords, Each strand a silent messenger, Binding walls and windows, Threading through the sky in tangled, wavering lines. Above, the network grows — A web Spun by invisible powers, Connecting every soul to another, Unseen but felt. Tentacles stretch from pole to pole, Searching, grasping, crawling through holes in the walls, Drawing us closer In the hush of electric hum, While below, shadows flicker As the serpents glide overhead, Linking us all together, both captive and free.
The paper blank, a silent dare White page waiting, empty air Ideas rise, and then they fall -- Just shadows dancing on the wall Words once flowed, but now a drought Doubt seeps in, I want to shout I reach for thoughts that drift away Inspiration does not stay Yet still I sit, I hope, I try To tell a story, not sit and sigh For in the quiet this is true One line whispers: “Begin anew.”
I imagine somewhere in The Universe it might look like this.
So, did you know that trees warn us Before volcanos erupt?
On Miranda, a moon of Uranus, there is a 20-Kilometer-high cliff, and if you jumped you would fall for 12 minutes in silence.
Ancient Romans used powdered mouse brains for oral hygiene.
Your eyeballs remain the same size from birth until death, unlike the rest of your body.
Wombats produce cube-shaped poop. This unique shape prevents the droppings from rolling away, helping the animal mark its territory.
Did you know that your fingernails grow at approximately One and a half inches per year, and that is also the rate The Moon is leaving The Earth. So, I am guessing, every time we go to The Moon, We’ll just have to go a bit further.
The Universe asks questions. As noted, by Hydrogen, given enough time, Turns into people who ask where they came from.
Winter passed. I rake the leaves that matted under snow. The excavation of layers moves. I am scratching at the ground In a rhythm. Fluffing - Flinging- Moving- Yellow tender shoots of grass appear Taking their first breaths, unhidden. I am taking away this heavy blanket. It’s time to shed the winter darkness. Fragile new growth is coming. What will I uncover? Encouraged by the discoveries, My rake moves with swift precision; A race against time Before the sun sets. Pausing for a breath, I see time is shortening by the minute. Must get these to the curb before dark.
There once was a shopper so brave, Who skipped all the Frito and Layz But come evening, alack With a craving attack She stared out at the night in a daze.
Marble Hill Press 