Solitary Survivors

I walk along the streets as darkness falls
Bundled deep within layers
Of sweaters and scarves, hands deep within my pockets
Smiling as the frigid air caresses my face.

I breathe deeply, absorbing the scent of pine,
Brusque air and dried leaves
Mingled with the scent of logs
Burning, escaping into the night.

An owl in the distance hails the deepening dusk.
The wind blows off the last of summers survivors.
Turning up the collar of my weathered pea coat,
I find myself gazing into the face of a full harvest moon.

How I treasure these solitary walks.
The peace of a gentle evening deep into fall.
Crisp pine needles crunch beneath our feet,
My dog Blue and I out for our daily evening jaunt.

Different Strokes of Color

I knew a girl with polka dots

I saw her every day

Who could like a girl with spots?

I wish she’d go away.

Everyone like’s stripes you see

My group wore blue and green

We ruled the school with colors bold

All other colors are obscene.

We taunted dots and made her cry

Poked fun at her yellow and purple marks

Other kids joined in our fun

A prank, a laugh, a bit of lark.

Then one day her colors changed

The spots were gray and black

She hung her head when she left the school

She never did come back.

One day I asked a teacher where

The girl with dots had gone

She shook her head, looking at the class

She told us she had withdrawn.

Seems she had left the school one day

She walked along the riverbank

With backpack loaded with some rocks

She walked into the water and sank.

She left a note about how sad she was

That she just didn’t seem to fit

My friends and I just hung our heads

The blame was ours, I must admit.

Each day I walk along those shores

Each year I place a spotted wreath

For a different girl who had her place

Who didn’t deserve the grief.

Lost in the City

I gaze unconsciously through smoked glass,

Encased ten flights above the asphalt,

Insignificant within this obscure tower.

Similar to a revelation, he soars majestically,

Circling on undercurrents beneath his span,

Waltzing on the wind in a leisurely minuet.

Bird of prey, what transports you to my world?

Concrete jungle with tainted air,

Nature vacant, paved with synthetic foliage.

Transport me to your stately mountains,

Liberate urgency upon sun-kissed outcrops,

Observing the world through an altered insight.

Isolated Memories

Standing in an open field

So battered and neglected

Weather boards with splintered edges

Open roof lets in the light

Oh what tales your walls have witnessed

What years of memories do you hide?

Ghosts long passed to greener pastures

Touched beneath the indigo skies.

Sage and paint brush adorn the homestead

Dust motes dance within your walls

Leaves and rock the floor beneath you

Lopsided shutters glimpsing foothills.

Did children grace your humble dwelling?

Or were you once a hunting lodge?

Maybe a shelter for some settlers

Or just some transient passing by.

Like a lady well beyond your prime

Standing in majestic shadows

Proudly weathering all life throws you

Until the day winds bring you down.

Night's Palette

A turquoise sky marbled with wisps of Xanadu clouds,

Framing smudges of magenta layered over wrinkles of denim,

Smeared above remnants of a setting orb

Outlining silhouettes of barren limbs stretching into space.

Let us walk along the shadows wrapped in weary contentment

Hands intertwined in night’s rhapsody

Silently sharing the crescendo of a days demise

As it graciously releases its last breathe into twilight.

Lena's Story and Poetry Corner: The Circle Resumes

Lena's Story and Poetry Corner: The Circle Resumes: "Sentries of the night stand guard in perfect formationAcross the stretch of wire, like clothespins on a lineWhile speckled flocks of g..."

The Circle Resumes

Sentries of the night stand guard in perfect formation

Across the stretch of wire, like clothespins on a line

While speckled flocks of grackle stain the landscape

Spots of black against a field of brown.

As if on cue, they choreographic their flight

Up and down, like waves at low tide

Just a ripple before they settle

Bobbing to a minuet as old as time.

Chatter of excitement as they discuss the day’s events

Children too excited to sleep, too restless to stay still

Something moves, and the sentries cry out a warning,

Taking flight, the sea bursts forth into the sky

Absorbing the last strands of light

They take flight across the shallow riverbed.

Reflections of black specks against the setting rays of sun

Up towards the back wash of brilliant pinks and yellows

Shards of cerulean attempting to hold back the sapphire night

A finger-painting of bleeding hues

Streaked across a mat from a single orange focal point.

A stroke of madness in a painting of harmony.

Night’s orchestra tunes up for tomorrows concert

They return at dawn to greet the day

Renewing once again the sonnet of the night

And the circle resumes.

*Photo from Clip art by Microsoft

Insignia of my Psyche

The complexity of my mind
is a kaleidoscope of colors,
blending together with my moods,
melting with my personality.

In the state of darkness,
the murky browns and grays
swirl like a fog,
encroaching on solitude

Happiness explodes in a rainbow
of bright hues and illumination,
vivid and rich in their depths,
bursting forth across the vast horizon.

Anger beats in pools of red,
pulsing to a beat that pounds within.
Graphic splices slashing across the canvas.
Drums beating, pounding, with tempos rising.

Passion breathes in deep purples.
Magenta draws swords against indigo.
Saturation’s of sensations,
dissipating into midnight blue of release.

Serenity blossoms within orchards of green
Lime to Olive; Celadon to Sea
Flowing, drifting, soothing
Melting into a pool of contentment.

Oh spectrum of lights and shades
how you fulfill me.
Desires that form substance under your artistic palette,
absorb then scatter, reflecting my inner energies.

Life's Wrong Number

Life is sometimes like a wrong number.  You call but end up speaking to a stranger and never seem to reach the party you actually need.

It is amazing how, as soon as reason sets in, we start planning the next twenty years of our lives.  We set these near impossible goals and aim directly for them.  Suddenly real life interferes, and then wham we are knocked on our kissers.  Life has a way of giving us wake up calls in the middle of our well laid plans and unexpectedly we are traveling down a road that up until then we have ignored.  We set out a straight road before us and then an avalanche of rocks falls across our path. We sit and stare at the barrier wondering what to do next. This was not in the blueprints.  I did not foresee this nor did I make provisions for it.  Do I plow through?  Do I step around?  Do I cut a different path?  Do I climb over?  Or do I remove it one stone at a time?  Childbirth, failure, love, divorce, death, opportunities, physical impairment intruding; all of which are life chapters that appear just when the storyline is going so smoothly.  Those unanticipated cliff hangers, that bring passion, excitement, fear, injustice or just extreme reaction, piling into our tranquility and order. 

Do I do a quick adjustment and then resume where I was before being interrupted?  Am I supposed to abort my ideas or drag the additional party down my road with me?  Do I treat this as an addition to my plans or an obstacle to be obliterated?  So often, after a major life change, I reflect back and wonder what in the world I had been thinking.  I see the change as the logical next step in my life when a year ago it was an unforeseen glitch.  All of these variations, additions, transformations and yes even tragedies have been the spice in my otherwise bland recipe of life.  Spice doesn’t necessarily taste sweet.  In fact, they are mostly strong or bitter.  But when combined with the right ingredients, the dish becomes quite tasty.  Without them, my life would have been ordered but quite boring. 

So in the end, my wrong numbers become new friends and the parties I was trying to reach have mostly been disconnected.  But all in all, I look forward to the forks that take me down unforeseen paths with anticipation, amusement and speculation.  Bring it on; I’m ready!

Battlefields of Discontented Dreams

Another year has marched out of my life.

A crusading warrior making his way back home,

Leaving bloody battlefields in his wake.

Trampled valleys where dreams once stood.

In the beginning, the year tiptoed in,

Softly sprinkling crystallized wishes.

Ideas, floating like a fine dusting of snow,

Forming a light covering on my bed of anticipation.

In swept the Ides of Spring laden with promises.

Storms tossing my wants in a turbulent sea of needs.

I planted my seeds with the expectancy of progression,

Hoping to find nourishment for my battered soul.

Summer scorched a path through my life

Bringing passion and potential to my fertile soil

Growing, thriving, reaching for the budding of fulfillment

Hopes alive, green and fresh, standing tall against adversity.

Autumn flew in on the winds of a changeling,

Taking the abundance and leaving a barren field.

Stripped of optimism, I wander in the fields of despair,

Wondering where my footpath led me astray.

Yes wicked winter with your freezing rains.

You beat against me, leaving blisters in your wake.

But Spring will return, of this I am certain,

Bringing with it the possibilities of contentment.

I Smell a Memory Coming On

The scents I remember like hand rolled cigars

Wine cask lined cellars in musty cool basements

Chocolate miniatures nestled in bright candy dishes

Tea leaves and mint steeping in dainty china cups.

Baked goods cooling on the kitchen counter

Roast with potatoes in a rich onion broth

Lilacs and roses lined on back yard fences

Channel #5 clings to grandmother’s sweater

Scents I remember from childhood spent

Fondly reminiscing with a wistful smile

In this sterile world I live in now

What will my grandchildren remember?

No leaves burnt on a cold autumn night

No carcinogens cooked over red hot coals

No second hand smoke that will cling to your clothes

No hairspray, no tea roses, no creams or colognes

No Sundays exploring my old Aunt Ruth’s farm

No chickens or guineas; no old dusty barns

No fresh moved hay or cinnamon apple pies

Just disinfected, purified, Ionic fresh air.

Night Comes Too Soon

How can this be twilight?

You who brought sunshine to my days,

What do I do when the night comes?

Our friendship is based on experiences,

We shared so many during our years together.

Will memories be all that I have left?

I’m not ready for you to go yet.

I want, I need, to bottle your sunshine.

How will I stay warm when the night approaches?

You are the answer to all my prayers;

The reason to awaken each morning and smile.

Your light is the essence of my life.

They tell me that your sunset is near.

Like a thief, I will steal away all of our moments together,

I will hold you in my arms until the light come’s for you.

Wait for me in the light,

I will look for you when my day is done.

We will walk again in sunshine, one day.

A Daily Testimony of a World's Decline

My daily drive; today through pouring rain,

Behind road fog snaking towards me from the truck ahead,

Slowly approaching the cloud-shrouded glass and metal,

Framed by downtown's bustling highways.

Graffiti on walls and overpasses define the city climate

Testimony of a divided space and time

Obscenities litter the viaducts and road signs

Racial slurs and sexual innuendos graphically apparent.

Beggars crowd each corner light.

Wheel chaired homeless; missing limbs and teeth,

Huddled beneath layers of sweaters and tattered jackets,

Mumbling into their private cyberspace of unreality.

Parking lots crowded with brown skinned men,

Waiting for one day's employment to wander by,

Speaking a language that is becoming the norm,

Twelve deep clustered in one room flats.

Sirens wail as the babies cry,

Crack head infants abandoned to a depleted system,

Children birthing children into a burdened structure,

Seams bursting in the waistcoat of mankind.