songs of the many,
sweet, soft voices
young and hope-filled or
gravelly, world weary,
ancient,
tinged with loss.
songs of experience,
joy imbued,
world on a string, or
blues immersed,
beer soaked,
whisky nourished.
there is a time
for every song to be heard,
even the lyrics
that tear at the heart
must be given voice
under the sun.
likewise in the midst
of despair, joyous
exclamations may erupt
guiding injured
human souls
beyond the pain.
Flying seemed like a fine idea, so she stepped onto the balcony and climbed up on the wrought
Iron railing. Too bad, she thought, her wings hadn’t yet come in. Maybe, like wisdom
Teeth there’d be a firm pushing through tender skin as molars tearing gums. A fresh,
Lilac-scented breeze brushed her cheeks, while the warm spring air caressed her bare
Arms. It would be a shame to leave on such a pleasant day. Maybe tomorrow her wings
Would sprout, the skies casting grey instead of blue, the wind full of ragweed causing her to sneeze
Vigorously. Then she would fly away swiftly just to prove she could. Carefully, she
Climbed down and plucked a lilac from a nearby bush. Ignoring the odd tingling between
Her shoulder blades, she tucked the flower behind one ear and slipped inside the French
Doors where beige plush carpeting tickled the bottoms of her bare feet eliciting a giggle.
Grandiose refuge
For readers of every ilk
Free ideas here!
Homespun collection
Cozy repository
Infinite value.
Enter worlds of words
With reverent abandon
Viva libraries!
The box sat unopened on the kitchen table, a bottle of red wine close at hand, long-stemmed glass in reach.
Off came the lids and memories spilled forth:
Newlywed couple, too young to know the perils of an uncertain future.
Pensive new mom in a white nightgown holding her firstborn, swaddled in soft blue bunting.
Happy one year old, face covered in frosting.
Another newborn held tightly, this one covered in pink.
A grinning toddler waving chubby fists over a Cabbage Patch birthday cake.
Wine poured, a tentative taste.
Years roll along. Kindergarten, primary years. Slow days, fast years.
Field day ribbons in primary hues.
Teachers’ notes in calligraphy
Cards from grandparents, now long gone, the signatures unique and cherished. Tangible proof of their love.
A bit more wine, a smooth second sip. Sweeter, deeper, longer.
High school awards, who knew they’d had so many?
Yearbook photos from different schools
Letters from crushes, embarrassingly frank, oh this is blackmail material!
Pour another glass. Wipe a tear away.
Graduation photos with family and friends.
Caps and gowns
Alma mater in the background
That glass went quickly! Pour another. Be generous. That’s good.
Adventures abroad
Wedding gowns and cummerbunds
Honeymoons
First grandchildren, three months apart
Sweet babies. She has my nose. He has your smile. More wine? Please.
New grandchildren are born
Personalities emerge–this one a tomboy, this one mercurial, this one a charmer; all loved
Marriages shift
New alliances form
Those were difficult days. Yes, more wine, please.
Holidays and birthdays
Moving days, so far away
Family reunions, look how we’ve grown! From two scared kids to this grand family.
Enough for one afternoon. Besides, we’re all out of wine. Close the box and kiss me.
Not yet five o’clock on a holiday afternoon, but who’s counting?
Open a bottle of rich red wine, and let it breathe, as I breathe.
Deep, slow exhalations, anticipations, celebrations.
Firecrackers crackle across the lake, driving the cats under the bed.
Pour a deep glass, notes of lavender and wood smoke grace the tongue.
Lazy limbs, liquid limbed, one sip leads to a second, then third.
The sound of our beating hearts superimposed over the pop! pop! pop!
Independence day? Interdependence day.
Hold me until the sounds cease.
We used to wait for full darkness to light our sparklers, better, daddy said, to see them
Sizzle against the velvety night sky. Little hands clutched fiery sticks, frantically spouting
Brilliant illuminations of red, white, and blue in a dangerously fun display of patriotic
Zeal. The big fireworks followed: bottle rockets, Roman candles, fountains and snakes.
Daddy always lit the firecrackers. Bundled black cats rat-a-tat-tatting like Al Capone’s
Mob kicked off the show. Momma clutched me close, but she didn’t have to fret. My natural
Self-preservation instincts won the night. I was happy to watch the show within her grasp.
scam the man
deliver the bribe
cheat and lie and steal,
work in secret
pull it off
master the art of the deal.
forget the cost
trust that’s lost
with every lie that’s told,
what matters most
is what you boast
and the power that you hold.
demean women
mock the disabled
embrace the KKK,
erase the years
of calm diplomacy
make bigotry all the rage.
invoke violence
strut and posture
that wall is gonna be “yuge,”
run us into the ground
like your casinos
we have everything to lose.
Lest we forget statements Trump has made or his lack of common human decency:
Creeping curving clef
Bold stroke twining garden’s staff
In the key of green
Floral fusion blooms
A visual melody
Music to the eyes
Strains softly entwine
Noted lines in four four time
Pianissimo
waning
words
scant
thoughts
rotten
rhymes
a clear
case
of
constipated
brain.
Doctor prescribes three glasses of rich red wine and says, “Write something brilliant tonight. You’ll be hungover in the morning.”
stairway to heaven
stars align to point the way
no turning back now
each step a blessing
every breath a prayer
walk always in peace
climb without ceasing
love with no reservation
embrace every soul
Praying for Eyebrowz 