I Click Clacked,
Along a gray path on a gray day.
A graphite outline of the shore.
Everything was calm,
The Sea slipped in and out of consciousness.
Seagulls whined through the air from
Point A to Point B,
Looking for food,
Returning to Nest,
Not for fun.
Seagulls don’t fly for fun I don’t think.
Perhaps they go to the theatre,
Perhaps they gamble.
A cyclist turned a corner and narrowly missed my face
with the butt of his handle.
He shrank into the fog,
and his cogs made that leisurely sound,
When one stops peddling,
And the wheels work overtime.
Chkchkchkchkchkchk -
It’s a hard noise to spell.
And as I Clicked,
As I Clacked,
The gray sky weighed down on me,
And hiding above it, was the moon,
Growing larger and brighter.
Speeding from the sky, to the sea,
Straight at me -
I was a goner.
Expectant,
Totally oblivious.
Can't breath; no air
Oxygen seems so rare
Not right; something's wrong
The pressures so strong
Pounding heart; pounding too fast
Must wait and pray it won't last
Can't think; thoughts scattered
All illusions gone completely shattered
No tears; none to cry
Does no good to question why
Can't be fixed; so broken
Anxiety such a prize token
~~~~~~English~~~~~~
Sunshine greets the pristine Dawn
With rays of dancing light
Misty paths of beauty...Everlasting beauty
Tiny violas kissed in dew
Red tulips drenched in fresh rain
And trees are greener still
Showing off with pride their shining leaves
Dark hunter moss soaked by the waters of the creek
Feels so soft and nice
A little mountain stream
Happily sings his morning song
As he flows along forever
Little birds warble sweetly to each other
And fill the air with beauty
Daisies dance in their cloak of pearly dew
And waltz with happiness in the meadows and fields
It is God Who made this lovely world
And it is He that this world sings to
In reverence and honor
They worship Him
~~~~~Romanian~~~~~
Soarele saluta zori curat
Cu raze de lumină de dans
Brumos căi de frumusete...Frumuseţea veşnică
Mici viole sărutat în rouă
Lalele rosii ud în ploaie proaspăt
Şi copacii sunt mai ecologice încă
Manifestare off cu mândrie lor frunze stralucitoare
Vânător de întuneric muşchi ud de apele pârâului
Se simte atât de moale şi frumos
Un râu de munte mic
Fericit cântă cântecul său de dimineaţă
Ca el curge de-a lungul pentru totdeauna
Păsărele warble dulce pentru fiecare alte
Şi umple aerul cu frumusetea
Margarete dans în mantie lor de mărgăritar roua
Şi vals cu fericirea în pajişti şi câmpuri
Este Dumnezeu care a făcut această lume minunată
Şi este că această lume cântă la
Din respect si onoare
Se închine
~Marian~
You're a shooting star against the darkened sky,
You're a red rose in a sea of white lillies,
You're a breath of fresh air in this stale world,
You're a gold nugget in a dark coal quarry
Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.
We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.
J. Sandy
Chain link fence with barbed wire greeted the visitor to the dream.
We could not enter so we walked around Nature’s extravagant garden.
We followed a narrow thread of a trail which
stitched its way through the green fabric of the forest.
The ground, underfoot, was a jigsaw puzzle of leaves, bits of bark, and pebbles.
The air was saturated with the scent of moist evergreen compost,
a silent shout from a hillside defiant with life.
We passed trees dressed in velvety moss sporting calico patches
of green, yellow and bark.
Fronds of green were about us, everywhere—a climbing army on the hillside
taking a break from their labors.
The trail adorned itself with dainty flowers which would never know life in a vase.
Above it all stood towering sentinels guarding their occasional fallen comrades.
Their arms held multi-leveled lacy branches vibrating in the breeze, like
the fans of an exotic dancer parsing out glimpses of the sky.
At the end of our trail lay stones; abandoned enormous toy building blocks
piled imprecisely at the end of play.
Beside the stones, behind the fence, we spied silhouettes, patches of sky and trees
mirrored in emerald reflection hugged by the silently crowding undergrowth.
At center stage, a tiered gray rock supported a bridal gown of white-flowing water,
like a department store display of a June-bride manikin.
In fact it was a Sunday in June; we on the other side of the fence.
We were told that the park and the pool would not be open till the first of July.
Somehow the trees, the water, the ferns, the flowers, and my heart knew better.
J. Sandy
Life is like
a can opener;
only if you use it
to it's full extent
can you truly enjoy it.
If it's left on the shelf,
it's experience is minute.
However, in a world of
Campbell oceans and corn mountains,
the world needs explorers.
There is diversity in the world
of canned creatures.
But without a can opener,
the baby can breathe no air,
feel no warmth.
Without a can opener,
we have no life,
no blowin' leaves in the wind,
no gazing into a lover's eyes,
no moonlight to dance in your mind
I knew the first time I felt the words nearly disintegrate in my mouth and fall back down my throat between a humming engine and black pavement in my driveway.
Everything feels lighter when the sky is darker. She left me lying in the damp grass outside my house. It could've been boring. It could've been easy. I could've closed my eyes. Could've slipped inside, instead I lay with my face to the moon, all pensive & strong & confused.
I started by counting the stars.
Then I painted the orbs that glowed around them with the tip of my finger.
I stayed calm even when my chest fell toward my shoulder blades and turned clean air to dust.
I felt twilight washing over me.
My mind raced as this twisted agony that rested quietly in the depths of my stomach lifted its head and slithered itself up my spine into my skull with the help of my heart strings.
I was consumed by this strange tiredness, that induced a definite dreamland before it lay me down to slumber.
All the clear thoughts in my head began to sink into this cluttered cloud beneath them, where they broke apart into a chaotic, uneasy mess.
When I finally shut my eyes, it was as though it was raining under my skin.
I could see it and I could hear it and I could smell it like an April night.
I knew when I turned twelve, I was not like the others.
I met Anxiety in the back of a washed out white classroom when I was fourteen.
It was a February morning.
Now I'm 18, it's a cool night in May
& she's here to stay.
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
Flowers build the summer air
Flowers bring untold despair
Flowers in the sun do grow
Shatter when the north winds blow
Flowers love not you, nor me
But lust for all the honey bees
Working in their busy way
To glut on all the summer days.
But when the bees are all but done
And Autumn leaves block out the Sun
Who's that in their final hour?
Not you or me-
Our friends, the flowers.
