Spring is dancing with flowers
to gather with colorful showers
rainbow streams
within the orange warm sunbeams
tulips and daffodils
bluebells ring spring
reflections from the good blue sky
within the green valley
natures best alley.
Spring is dancing with flowers
to gather with colorful showers
rainbow streams
within the orange warm sunbeams
tulips and daffodils
bluebells ring spring
reflections from the good blue sky
within the green valley
natures best alley.
The March wind blows on gray, chilly days
As shriveled, brittle and faded orange leaves
Fall on the softening, tan blades of grass.
Small green buds start to appear
At the end of bare tree branches
And pretty, purple crocus
Begin to grow as their petals
Peek out of the softening soil.
Some days clear blue skies are seen
And others gray skies are the day’s color.
Birds return to sing their beautiful morning songs
As geese come back honking.
The clocks spring forward bringing more light to the day
And the night sky appears much later in time.
While the sun gets warmer and stays with us much longer
Children’s voices shout with delight and
The echoes of “Play ball” are heard
And scooter wheels are rolling fast on the sidewalks and
streets
Spring is back with all of its growth
And life has come full circle.
Like a Furious geyser,
Waiting to explode,
He waits as his head fills with heat
His mind becomes a tempest,
A storm overflowing with rage.
He’s completely taken over.
Dark clouds swirl,
Encasing him deeper and deeper
Into the tantrum,
But it’s more than just that,
It’s pure,
Unrelenting emotion that’s built up.
It’s something that’s never let out,
Never expressed,
Never talked about.
At this point in his life there’s nothing else to do,
But to give in to the tenderness,
To allow himself to succumb,
And feel.
And before he knows it,
A single stream forms down his face,
As she holds him in her arms.
This stream turns into a waterfall,
Not filled with anger, or fury,
But rather relief.
I paint with blue pens and a keyboard that is back lit
I craft my markings on heavy white paper
Or thin pages filled with butterflies or flowers.
These pages are filled with printed letters and others with curves.
My paintings are seen by my eyes first
And then eventually by the eyes of others.
These markings flowing from left to right
As I fill many pages or just one.
When I read, these markings are given sounds and inflections
So that others can hear my different voices.
Ones that may be loud, others that may be screams
Or some that may go up and down like a roller coaster
And the gentle voices that reach from my heart and soul.
I am a writer of poems and essays
That spill from deep within me and pass from my lips.
I share by voice of words with all who will listen
Hoping they enjoy my beautiful paintings to see and to hear
For, I am an artist of words.
I think we all take for granted the years of young life,
It isn’t until they’re gone that we miss living a kid’s life.
Everyday was happy with no worries or fears,
Now life is far more complicated and we look back on those years.
I wish I could have stayed a kid forever; I had so much hope,
But at some point we all grow up, we all must cope.
At some point we were all carefree and striving,
Living our best lives, young and thriving.
I wish we could just all go back to that time thereof,
Living our lives much higher above.
No matter the day and no matter the year,
As a young child time seemed to just disappear.
I miss that stress-free life of eventful and fun,
But hopefully the sequel to young life has just begun.
I am from a loud chaotic home
From scattered shoes to nerf bullets made of foam
I am from the smells that brighten your mood
My mom in the kitchen cooking good food
I am from the mighty oak known as my dad
Whose long limbs I remember as if they were my own
I’m from swimming in the blue sea and tubing in the sound
From my sister my brother and I just goofing around
I’m from teaching my dog cool tricks
To getting him to fetch some sticks
And from having dance parties all night long
To a super loud crazy song
I’m from advice from my mother
Such as always share and be kind to one another
I’m from early morning Easter egg hunts
And the football everyone punts
I’m from Long Island and Greece
From spinach pie to baklava in a big feast
From my little sister explaining to my family how to make a kite
Who is funny, loving, and bright
I am from all of these things and moments
My personality and who I’ll become
I am proud of who I am and where I’m from
Words
cut from the whole cloth
of everyday life
stitched together
with precision
into art
Variety vs. Time © 2017
The problem with me you see
Is that I like variety
I can not stay in one place too long
The sun is now setting
Excuse me for forgetting
This may be the last sunset in my song
Life’s music so sweet
My family almost complete Writing another memoir in peace
The clock on the wall
sounding ticks through the hall
Out my window Flying south under the clouds are two geese
Variety, variety
A tragedy, a tragedy
How do I split myself in two
Life offers too much
Short time is my crutch
I’ll be happy for now, what else could I do?
The first Daffodil
Opens
Presents its fluted face
To morning’s sun
Still
March’s wind sends
Shivers
Through Rhododendron’s
Waxy leaves
Flipping some
Upside down