Variable Rate
I bent downward, the plug rigid in my fingers Like a crucifix in a dead priests hand And pushed it toward the socket It chipped at the sides so I leant in further
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Monday Sonnet: Coda
That's it. There's no more sonnets. You change place. And I will be your Cyrano no more, There will be no more calling you 'Your Grace,' No speech, no other witty metaphor.
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Dropped
A day gone is a day lost. Lost and gone forever. We cannot walk back to that day, dropped only a short week ago. Pick it up, dust it off, and smile at our good fortune
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Cause And Effect
A bit of a confession...
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White Girl
This is an Ephrastic poem for The White Girl by Whistler http://www.wetcanvas.com/Museum/Artists/w/James_Whistler/white_girl.html
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The Tricycle
A childhood memory. No words were ever spoken, only a line of a song as he peddled away...
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If beauty could let her love to me
If beauty could let' her love to me' Like the white buds on a magnolia tree What a nature in my soul there would be What a freedom in my breast for thee Could I in truth set wing flung free...
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The music of one’s love is deaf and dumb
Curiously, I once heard music where there was none! this I perceived when -two deaf and dumb, young lovers were caught-up in an all embracing kiss. After which they spoke in sign,
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- 1427 reads
The garden
The garden is a living cell A Monet' of color And still reflexion! It's life is moving But still like the sun, Forever in dusk or dawn: A theater of hearts Beating as one
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- 782 reads