Saturday, January 29, 2011
I just heard from a friend about a young man who died where she works; he walked straight into busy traffic while listening to headphones and texting. It kind of puts that youtube video of the woman walking into the fountain into perspective. If you're reading this, please warn your family and friends.
Friday, January 28, 2011
A hundred words to turn the forests green.
Mists of secrets hide your eyes from me, while smoky dreams are tossed to flowing streams; love sets us free.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
through forests looming out of doom where bright inverted sunshine turns the sky
to rain’s reflection splashing dry.
It’s cold outside but in the car
the mystery and joy will travel far. There’s hope inside
Snatches mouse through narrows sneaking
Sleek, delicious, cleans her whiskers
Bluebird high in tall tree flitting
Down on squirrel never quitting
Sitting watching feeding birdseed
Kitten’s oft-inspiring treks now
Rest in dreams in comfort’s house, how
Vanished hopes are banished, canned, still
Monday, January 24, 2011
“No problem,” said Mum, capturing errant beast with card-capped cup. She told the child to open the door then freed her ancient foe into the wild. “He’s okay now.”
Child hurried out and squished it.
So, stay or go? Standing atop a mist-wreathed cliff, looking down on painted river under sky, Sunday’s sun-fire. A glorious trip!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
It’s the movies’ fault. He imagined music and breathless enticement and images blurred at the seams.
It’s the truth; electricity fades but love keeps.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Curtains flutter and the hallowed sky
Reflects on specks of dust.
Dreaming squirrels in the trees
He sees that patterns of the breezes fly
Like rainbows into rust.
Dreaming mystery and magic
See the kitten and the puppy fly like
Clouds of summer dancing winter’s fire.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Small boy dreamed fields of green then worked with money. Small girl dreamed fields of gold, then tended bees and worked with honey. Boy met and married girl, combining dreams and scenes. She keeps a honey farm; he keeps the books; and bees keep fields arrayed in gold and green.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Girl ran in crying, found her Mom in sobs and on TV a stranger dying.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Dreaming sometimes made him cry. A stranger made the dreamer bleed and die; red tears black streaming.
Friday, January 14, 2011
“The sky’s dripping,” said little boy’s sister, shaking the wet from her hair.
“Sky’s splashy,” laughed the baby with never a care.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
To open seas where winds of
Change and reason blow.
Dreaming spires will fall
When blooms of spring all turn to
Memories and dust.
Dreaming birds awake;
Shaken feathers fall like rust
Burning snow’s shadow.
Dreaming hope reflect
On promises and end of
Trust that seasons spent.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Read it. It’s blank.
Think about it… and slowly the writing appears. The picture… See what you’re thinking of? No? Tell me who. Have you guessed that I’ve sent you this card. Think of me. Picture me.
Open it. I’m reading your thoughts on my machine.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Train pulls in, hobbled lady, “Sit here.” Tunnel looms, engine zooms.
Blue skies are bright as woman’s warming gaze.
Child tries to climb. “No,” says Mama. Child drops.
Child tries to sing. “No,” says Mama, before
Child tries to cry. “No,” says Mama. Closed door.
Child tries and Mama cries. Wait. In the end
Mama’s bending to child’s trying love.
Change it; change everything; keep it the same. Time’s changing too.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Recycled dreams turn yellow with age, like sepia photographs bent in brittle frames.
Recycled hopes are yellow-green where envy’s weeds seep in.
Recycling goes in the yellow bin, but New Year promises smell sweet.
Don’t have to recycle. Repeated resolutions are good to keep.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
“Next please”—the dentist’s chair awaiting me.
“Look Davey, here’s how you climb.”
Big brother sighed.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Becky couldn’t do it, till Mom said, “Use your fingers.” Now she’s counting all the time.
“Climb down,” said Dad. “I’ll help.”
“But it’s too hard.”
“Baby’s can’t use climbing-frames,” her older brother sighed.
Girl jumped and landed safe in father’s arms.