You say you want magic?
Well I’ll show you magic.
All you need to do is stop,
pay attention, look carefully,
closely to sunflowers with their
bright yellow petals and, looking
even closer (no magnifying glass
needed), see the tiny vein
down the middle.
When you pull out dandelions,
notice their strong central root,
the lovely yellow flower.
How’s that for magic?
I am just a child who wants to be held
I am just a child who wants to be held
I am just a child who wants to be held
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
But no one’s ever wanted to hold me
Never have the spider webs
sung to me this sweetly,
woven all the day and night
as cacophony surrounds them.
As if they perspire, toxic beads evaporate
and small silences are cleaned away,
then dry and quiet notes begin,
almost mistaken for a swish of breeze.
But the web spiders hear melodies,
tunes of their labors well woven,
strong when percussive beings pass,
laced beautiful in the feasting phrases.
Spider eggs are humming.
I twist open the cap,
And tip the bottle over.
The colorful liquid pours out onto the pallet.
My soft brush
Pushes into the paint
Spreading it around the flat pallet.
The canvas, stretched,
Plain and white,
Ready to be defaced
The first stroke is always The scariest
Breaking the white of the canvas
Removing the silence of the blank surface
Once I start
I can’t stop.
I’m waving my paint brush back and forth,
The strokes come naturally,
Easily
I paint
And paint
Until the painting is finished
I step back
And
I hate it.
Cloudless blue sky, day alive and bright .
Savagely altered into gray night.
A President calmly teaching his flock,
Innocence stolen before nine o’clock.
Towers almost touching the sky, Cruelly felled as we wondered “Why”.
Our people, though shattered by the vast devastation,
were strengthened by Rudy’s determination.
Seeing the President, bullhorn in hand
Inspired Americans to take a stand.
Old Glory waving proudly from cars East to West,
As our generation would be put to the test.
September Eleventh Two Thousand and One,
An ordinary day when it was begun,
But changed in an instant by that act of war,
When we were reminded, freedom’s worth fighting for.
For most of this long and perilous trip,
Grandest feeling came following a lost grip.
The calm and balm felt after a frightful storm,
Cool breezes of tranquil aftermath, yet warm.
The fear, dread while in the mental tempest –
Thought of Ultimate quit, peeks into the abyss.
In its stead, the journey has evolved into a Joy;
Vanquishing terrors fallen to a rejoicing ploy.
Paralyzing moments – doom, gloom gone, rid,
Welcomed jubilation, newfound rest to bid.
The Great Orchestrator has placed a grin
On this spirit – heartened, ready for new begin.
In April they bloom
full and bright
their pink petals decorating the once barren trees.
They are so beautiful
but beauty never lasts.
Almost as soon as they appear
they are falling back into the earth
disappearing
until next April
I don’t mean anything to these people
These places
These things
I’ve always been a void filler
A moment passed
A time in their life
But never a solitary figure.
They look at me as disposable
Replaceable.
Compostable.
I try to plant roots
And they get mold
I try to plant roots
And they get cut
I just want stability
But no one seems to want me to stay
So I’ll go again
And again
And again
The hole inside getting bigger, larger, angrier.
I guess I’ll go.. you don’t need me
I guess I’ll go… you all don’t need me
I guess
I’ll
Go
I’m
Not
Needed.
Morning light peeks
through strands
of gray clouds
left over from
black night. As the day
goes on, bright light
brings out the vibrant colors
of yellow tulips until
the earth turns
leaving our world in half-light
until the sun seems to
descend into the western sea
leaving us in dark night.
