ISS55-59-95 - Hello Poetry

December 17th - 22nd, 2020 I. At an Old Park Bench, She Let Herself Drop, Seagulls Soared as they Travelled at Her Stop Below her Feet, She Saw them Land, and Stare at her Brown Paper Bag But the Aves Brought her No Blooming Smile, No Joys of Generosity To Her, their Eyes were Stationary & Sterile, Like Glass Models, Just Beaks on a Hunt There was No Way for them to Relate II. Above Her Lumpy Seat, Nirvana was Seen in the Sky An Emersion Filled with the Growth of Amethysts, Sparkles of Cider, and Deep Ocean Water, To Her, All that Energy Didn’t Matter, its Beauty Bore her No Sightseeing Delight, The Composite in the Clouds Held Empty Meaning She was Blind to a Bright Blue Day, a Heavenly Rain, or a Pinprick of Snow, With Her, the Day’s Dissolve Only Expressed Violence, Sewn Within its Violet Hues III. She Slid her Hand into the Old Paper Bag The One the Seagulls Eyed, Yet a Loaf of Bread Did Not Appear The Bottle Wasn’t Meant to be Shared, Like an Assassin’s Dagger, She Quickly Swiped the Wine Free She Gave a Sharp Glance, Made Sure No One was Near Then She Lifted the High Shoulder’s Spout to Her Lips Its Meeting was Her Most-Desired Mix IV. Her Savored Sips Soon Became Gulps The Burn was Indulging as it Slid Down her Throat And She Turned a Blind Eye to its Dry Ice Effect A Cold and Sterile Connection, Leaving Scorching Flames in its Track, For Her, Merlot had Once Been a Beautiful Word, Like a Poem, or a French Verse, Now She Thought of Coins Circling in her Purse Protean Drupelets, Floral Notes, Lost Within the Nameless Tonic V. Swaying Away, the Birds Gave Her their Backs, Without a Baguette at Arm’s Length, they Saw No Reason to Stay Waving their Wings of Flight – they Took Off into the Impending Night The Seagulls Soared Unbound – Toward the Painting of Heaven, Left Alone on the Tattered Bench She Tried to Sit Up, but Found Herself Slump, Her Precious Liter of Red, Still Clutched in Her Hand The Roots of Artificial Salvation, She Took in a Breath, and Sighed in her Suffering And Again, Drank from her Grapes of Poison The Source of Her Love, & Her Agony

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Dec 23, 2020

Dec 23, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC

A Missed Love

December 17th - 22nd, 2020 I. At an Old Park Bench, She Let Herself Drop, Seagulls Soared as they Travelled at Her Stop Below her Feet, She Saw them Land, and Stare at her Brown Paper Bag But the Aves Brought her No Blooming Smile, No Joys of Generosity To Her, their Eyes were Stationary & Sterile, Like Glass Models, Just Beaks on a Hunt There was No Way for them to Relate II. Above Her Lumpy Seat, Nirvana was Seen in the Sky An Emersion Filled with the Growth of Amethysts, Sparkles of Cider, and Deep Ocean Water, To Her, All that Energy Didn’t Matter, its Beauty Bore her No Sightseeing Delight, The Composite in the Clouds Held Empty Meaning She was Blind to a Bright Blue Day, a Heavenly Rain, or a Pinprick of Snow, With Her, the Day’s Dissolve Only Expressed Violence, Sewn Within its Violet Hues III. She Slid her Hand into the Old Paper Bag The One the Seagulls Eyed, Yet a Loaf of Bread Did Not Appear The Bottle Wasn’t Meant to be Shared, Like an Assassin’s Dagger, She Quickly Swiped the Wine Free She Gave a Sharp Glance, Made Sure No One was Near Then She Lifted the High Shoulder’s Spout to Her Lips Its Meeting was Her Most-Desired Mix IV. Her Savored Sips Soon Became Gulps The Burn was Indulging as it Slid Down her Throat And She Turned a Blind Eye to its Dry Ice Effect A Cold and Sterile Connection, Leaving Scorching Flames in its Track, For Her, Merlot had Once Been a Beautiful Word, Like a Poem, or a French Verse, Now She Thought of Coins Circling in her Purse Protean Drupelets, Floral Notes, Lost Within the Nameless Tonic V. Swaying Away, the Birds Gave Her their Backs, Without a Baguette at Arm’s Length, they Saw No Reason to Stay Waving their Wings of Flight – they Took Off into the Impending Night The Seagulls Soared Unbound – Toward the Painting of Heaven, Left Alone on the Tattered Bench She Tried to Sit Up, but Found Herself Slump, Her Precious Liter of Red, Still Clutched in Her Hand The Roots of Artificial Salvation, She Took in a Breath, and Sighed in her Suffering And Again, Drank from her Grapes of Poison The Source of Her Love, & Her Agony

44

November 21 – December 9th, 2020 I. Holding My Mug of Peppermint Tea I See My Ride Arrive, My Fingers Fill with Danish Cookies Bells Sway in the Wind, Spearmint Steam Warms My Lips, Tisane takes the Chill Away from My Cheeks, I Sip into Delicate Ecstasy And the Pullman Comes to a Halt, Chimes Ring Louder & Faster I Bite into My Butter Biscuit, Pinwheels of Snow Blow in the Breeze The Air is a Lully Balm, I See the Hoarfrost Hang from the Train Dangling off the Window Frames, Children Toss Snowballs Between One Another, Among their Fun, Laughter is a Muse, Upon the Platform, Rubies Spiral, Snowflakes Descend like Flower Petals, Leucojums Rise Through their Mingling They Ribbon Around the Trees, and Coat them Like Icing, I Savor My Peppermint Sip As it Drip-Drops onto My Lips, Horns Alert My Eyes to the Holiday Lights Their Sound is a Bellowing Echo II. I Step onto the Trolley Car, Riders Sit Down, Ready to Travel Far, Green Apple Grapevines Enclose the Copper Walls Their Light Bounces off the Raven-Shaded Trees, Kids Sample Cider, They Leap Between their Seats, I Gaze at Them, Acrobats on Trampolines, Their Flips Make the Passengers Giggle Chuckles Pop around like Snapping Peanut Brittle, I Take Another Taste of My Tisane, Mint is Fresh and Tepid, Windows Align with the Picture-Books of Youth Our Dining Car is a Giant Gingerbread Carriage, Rolling By, the Jovial Jump Between Compartments, Their Joy is a Gem More Valuable than Snow, Watermint Heats My Hands & Throat A Gift from the Tea Sommelier, Walking up the Hallways of the Train Each Entry is Marked by a Pinecone Wreath, As if the Fontana della Pigma was Right Here Every Cone is a Crown Made of Art, Faith, and Yesteryear, Tea Mist and Conifer Seeds Awaken in their Wait, I Witness their Blend Radiate, Emitting Beams of Beauty, Flying Across the Carriage Eyes are Transfixed in the Pull of their Passage, III. The Coulter Saplings Await their Bloom, My Peppermint Tea Has Been Gulped, I Take One More Look Outside the Train, A Descending Breath is Showcased, Cousins, Kids, Parents and Friends, I See Them All Return to their Seats, They Huddle Together with Quilts & Crayons, Tea Cups are Shared as Holiday Presents, the Air Hums a Soft Lilt, The Warmth is Strongly Felt, Thus Ends the Tale I Have Woven, of the Peppermint Tea Pullman

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Dec 8, 2020

Dec 8, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC

The Peppermint Tea Train

November 21 – December 9th, 2020 I. Holding My Mug of Peppermint Tea I See My Ride Arrive, My Fingers Fill with Danish Cookies Bells Sway in the Wind, Spearmint Steam Warms My Lips, Tisane takes the Chill Away from My Cheeks, I Sip into Delicate Ecstasy And the Pullman Comes to a Halt, Chimes Ring Louder & Faster I Bite into My Butter Biscuit, Pinwheels of Snow Blow in the Breeze The Air is a Lully Balm, I See the Hoarfrost Hang from the Train Dangling off the Window Frames, Children Toss Snowballs Between One Another, Among their Fun, Laughter is a Muse, Upon the Platform, Rubies Spiral, Snowflakes Descend like Flower Petals, Leucojums Rise Through their Mingling They Ribbon Around the Trees, and Coat them Like Icing, I Savor My Peppermint Sip As it Drip-Drops onto My Lips, Horns Alert My Eyes to the Holiday Lights Their Sound is a Bellowing Echo II. I Step onto the Trolley Car, Riders Sit Down, Ready to Travel Far, Green Apple Grapevines Enclose the Copper Walls Their Light Bounces off the Raven-Shaded Trees, Kids Sample Cider, They Leap Between their Seats, I Gaze at Them, Acrobats on Trampolines, Their Flips Make the Passengers Giggle Chuckles Pop around like Snapping Peanut Brittle, I Take Another Taste of My Tisane, Mint is Fresh and Tepid, Windows Align with the Picture-Books of Youth Our Dining Car is a Giant Gingerbread Carriage, Rolling By, the Jovial Jump Between Compartments, Their Joy is a Gem More Valuable than Snow, Watermint Heats My Hands & Throat A Gift from the Tea Sommelier, Walking up the Hallways of the Train Each Entry is Marked by a Pinecone Wreath, As if the Fontana della Pigma was Right Here Every Cone is a Crown Made of Art, Faith, and Yesteryear, Tea Mist and Conifer Seeds Awaken in their Wait, I Witness their Blend Radiate, Emitting Beams of Beauty, Flying Across the Carriage Eyes are Transfixed in the Pull of their Passage, III. The Coulter Saplings Await their Bloom, My Peppermint Tea Has Been Gulped, I Take One More Look Outside the Train, A Descending Breath is Showcased, Cousins, Kids, Parents and Friends, I See Them All Return to their Seats, They Huddle Together with Quilts & Crayons, Tea Cups are Shared as Holiday Presents, the Air Hums a Soft Lilt, The Warmth is Strongly Felt, Thus Ends the Tale I Have Woven, of the Peppermint Tea Pullman

61

October – November 6th, 2020 I. To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet While Reading Elegant English Sonnets It Would be a Wonderful Power One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me II. Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the Slope Incline Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures III. Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us IV. My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells V. Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine It Would Be a Sensational Scene My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting VI. Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology I would Have Reached So Many Listeners, Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift

0

Nov 5, 2020

Nov 5, 2020 at 10:04 PM UTC

The Saga of Snowdon

October – November 6th, 2020 I. To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet While Reading Elegant English Sonnets It Would be a Wonderful Power One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me II. Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the Slope Incline Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures III. Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us IV. My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells V. Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine It Would Be a Sensational Scene My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting VI. Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology I would Have Reached So Many Listeners, Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift

97

September 29th, 2020 Air from Terra Rising Quivering in the Mountains Rocks Rumble Beneath Earth, & One’s Feet Wind Blares Down on All of Us Nature Plays Tambourines – Touching Each of Our Ears Terrene Mother Drums her Hands’ Down on the Planet’s Crust Manmade Iron Rails Roll their Human Cargo through Scenic Landscapes Man - in their Fibbing Imaginations’ Believe that they Overcome the Mountain’s Rocks & Horns Sights Behold, & Sights Lost in Time A World Without Flesh Arrives with Urbanization Voices Born & Silenced through Oppression Mothers Can’t Pay for Milk, Feet Thump on the Aggregate – Pasted Over the Once Fertile Ground Steps on the Concrete of Our Grandparents’ Skyscrapers Block Out the Open Sky They Lord Over the Sight of Homes Lost to the Next Generations Parks Become Sinkholes in the Modern Age Beats from the Boomboxes of Youth Converting themselves into Car Radios Words Walk By but their Unheard by Invisible Bodies, Gibberish Blends in the Air Whispering Echoes of Past Lives – Lost Within the Smog The Sun Sets on the Densely-Driven Divides

0

Oct 9, 2020

Oct 9, 2020 at 5:12 PM UTC

An Accolade to Nameless Station

September 29th, 2020 Air from Terra Rising Quivering in the Mountains Rocks Rumble Beneath Earth, & One’s Feet Wind Blares Down on All of Us Nature Plays Tambourines – Touching Each of Our Ears Terrene Mother Drums her Hands’ Down on the Planet’s Crust Manmade Iron Rails Roll their Human Cargo through Scenic Landscapes Man - in their Fibbing Imaginations’ Believe that they Overcome the Mountain’s Rocks & Horns Sights Behold, & Sights Lost in Time A World Without Flesh Arrives with Urbanization Voices Born & Silenced through Oppression Mothers Can’t Pay for Milk, Feet Thump on the Aggregate – Pasted Over the Once Fertile Ground Steps on the Concrete of Our Grandparents’ Skyscrapers Block Out the Open Sky They Lord Over the Sight of Homes Lost to the Next Generations Parks Become Sinkholes in the Modern Age Beats from the Boomboxes of Youth Converting themselves into Car Radios Words Walk By but their Unheard by Invisible Bodies, Gibberish Blends in the Air Whispering Echoes of Past Lives – Lost Within the Smog The Sun Sets on the Densely-Driven Divides

25

April 12th, 2017 A girl drew a doodle It was of her pet poodle He laid on a mat He was quite fat Her mother smiled and gave them both strudel

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Oct 9, 2020

Oct 9, 2020 at 4:47 PM UTC

The Doodle and the Poodle

April 12th, 2017 A girl drew a doodle It was of her pet poodle He laid on a mat He was quite fat Her mother smiled and gave them both strudel

6

September 9th, 2020 The Skies Once So Proud – that Mirrored the Ocean Blue Now Coated with Hazy Orange Fumes, A Settled Step into Purgatory, Passing Us By – Apollo’s Chariot has Flown Ashes Bop Beneath the Unforgiving Ambience, The Drowsy Haze of a Drunk Bewitches Ones’ Wit, Nature – Bleary and Blended, Morning has Refused to Arrive, Our Trees Leave Tears Beneath their Roots, Blackened by the Loss of the Sun Love has Left, Limbo Leans Unearthed by Gods’ Means

0

Oct 1, 2020

Oct 1, 2020 at 11:11 PM UTC

Olympus Lost

September 9th, 2020 The Skies Once So Proud – that Mirrored the Ocean Blue Now Coated with Hazy Orange Fumes, A Settled Step into Purgatory, Passing Us By – Apollo’s Chariot has Flown Ashes Bop Beneath the Unforgiving Ambience, The Drowsy Haze of a Drunk Bewitches Ones’ Wit, Nature – Bleary and Blended, Morning has Refused to Arrive, Our Trees Leave Tears Beneath their Roots, Blackened by the Loss of the Sun Love has Left, Limbo Leans Unearthed by Gods’ Means

12

June 28-30th, 2020 With a Nice Piece of Toffee, She Indulged on her Mid-Morning Coffee, As She Sipped on her Java It Warmed her Throat like Lava, And She Smiled Knowing her Cup was Lofty

0

Oct 1, 2020

Oct 1, 2020 at 8:27 PM UTC

A Twine about Coffee Time

June 28-30th, 2020 With a Nice Piece of Toffee, She Indulged on her Mid-Morning Coffee, As She Sipped on her Java It Warmed her Throat like Lava, And She Smiled Knowing her Cup was Lofty

6

June 9th-10th, 2020 In the House on Woodland Road – Love Weaved in Many Molds It Came when Two Little Girls heard a Woman’s Voice Announce, “I Have a Surprise for You,” And Sitting on the Fireplace – there was a Videotape, and it Showed Tigger’s Smiling Face The Tigger Movie had Just Arrived, much to the parents’ surprise It Came Again when the Girls Looked in the Cookie Jar, the one Topped with the Smiling Cartoon-Cookie Man Inside was a Tower of Oreos, Waiting for the Girls to Pull Apart and Lick Love was there by the TV-set – Shown with a Stack of Madeline Tapes Love was even by the Bookcase – with a Bing to the Brim of Hardbacks Neither Child could Understand Seated on a Shelf’s Corner, there rested a Crayola Box – Filled with Crayons to the Tin’s Tip-Top Love was in the Bedroom, with Crayola Crayons Stockpiled – and Sitting on the Closet’s Ledge Love was on the Rounded-Rug Below, as the Child Played out a Tick-Timing Clock while Laying on their Back Love was by the Twin Seat Cushions, as the Girls Bounced from One to Another – and Played Leap Frog Between Each Other Love was in the Garden’s Grass – seen when one of the Children Pulled Apart Presumed Pickles from the Tree, and Sprinkled them all over her Love was by the Cats’ Food Bowl, Awaiting a Stray to Walk in and Take a Bite Love was when the Child walked into the Family Room, and took out the Classic Game Candyland She Played with her New Puppy till he Crossed the Finish Line, and Declared him Champion Love was there as the Children went for a Walk in the Backyard, and Saw all the Birds and Conifers The Birdfeeder Hung, and the Bathwater Rippled, – and they awaited its famished and filthy Aves Love was there for many years, long before the Children Appeared And then One Day, the Children came, but all the Love had Died They Noticed the Dust, and the Cobwebs, and the Chill Attached to the House They Noticed the Trees Chopped Down, and their Smiles were Lost They Noticed the Change, and it Made them Very Sad The House had Lost its old Charm, the Children Fell into Monotony and the Gems that Once Gave the House its Glow – Would Never Again Come out and Show

0

Oct 1, 2020

Oct 1, 2020 at 6:18 PM UTC

Love in the House on Woodland Road

June 9th-10th, 2020 In the House on Woodland Road – Love Weaved in Many Molds It Came when Two Little Girls heard a Woman’s Voice Announce, “I Have a Surprise for You,” And Sitting on the Fireplace – there was a Videotape, and it Showed Tigger’s Smiling Face The Tigger Movie had Just Arrived, much to the parents’ surprise It Came Again when the Girls Looked in the Cookie Jar, the one Topped with the Smiling Cartoon-Cookie Man Inside was a Tower of Oreos, Waiting for the Girls to Pull Apart and Lick Love was there by the TV-set – Shown with a Stack of Madeline Tapes Love was even by the Bookcase – with a Bing to the Brim of Hardbacks Neither Child could Understand Seated on a Shelf’s Corner, there rested a Crayola Box – Filled with Crayons to the Tin’s Tip-Top Love was in the Bedroom, with Crayola Crayons Stockpiled – and Sitting on the Closet’s Ledge Love was on the Rounded-Rug Below, as the Child Played out a Tick-Timing Clock while Laying on their Back Love was by the Twin Seat Cushions, as the Girls Bounced from One to Another – and Played Leap Frog Between Each Other Love was in the Garden’s Grass – seen when one of the Children Pulled Apart Presumed Pickles from the Tree, and Sprinkled them all over her Love was by the Cats’ Food Bowl, Awaiting a Stray to Walk in and Take a Bite Love was when the Child walked into the Family Room, and took out the Classic Game Candyland She Played with her New Puppy till he Crossed the Finish Line, and Declared him Champion Love was there as the Children went for a Walk in the Backyard, and Saw all the Birds and Conifers The Birdfeeder Hung, and the Bathwater Rippled, – and they awaited its famished and filthy Aves Love was there for many years, long before the Children Appeared And then One Day, the Children came, but all the Love had Died They Noticed the Dust, and the Cobwebs, and the Chill Attached to the House They Noticed the Trees Chopped Down, and their Smiles were Lost They Noticed the Change, and it Made them Very Sad The House had Lost its old Charm, the Children Fell into Monotony and the Gems that Once Gave the House its Glow – Would Never Again Come out and Show

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September 17th – 18th, 2020 The Tourists are Attracted with Smiles, Laughter, and Photographs Among Each Other The Men in Blue Vests – They Spy Art, They Glimpse it, & See it Spreading like Wildfire They Think it’s Message is Meant to be Contained The People in the Neighborhood – They Distinguish them as Individual Landmarks The Colors Inside a Kaleidoscope – Sunset Orange, Chocolate Brown, the Rainbows Found Inside SweeTARTS They Light up the Wall like Imaginary Streetlamps in the Woods of Tahoe It’s a Place Filled with So Much Beauty, but it’s a Vision that Many Will Never Get to View Murals – they Speak the Voices of Cultures of the Past, Homes of Today, Ancestral Voices Echo The Generations of the Future Gaze on Now Fruits Shared in Baskets – Births, Babies, Nectarines, Coffee Beans, Lentils & Honey Wine, Held in the Painted Woman’s Hands Eyes See through the Graffitied Concrete, its Too Much for Many to Bear, Some Refuse to Stare, Yet they’d Leave their Mundane Sight Behind if they Did It’s a Reminder of Oppression, the Portraits Once Blacklisted, the Beauty Once Boycotted The Colors on the Wall – They Remain Something Many Try to Silence & Quell But the Murals are a Gift, One that Still Beams in the Optics of the Youth, when their Parents Drive them in the Backseats of Explorers, When They’re Stuck on the Ride to School It’s a Badge of Home, a Symbol they May or May Not Know, a Mark they Both Love & Hate The Pictures Spoke Louder than the People

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Oct 1, 2020

Oct 1, 2020 at 5:53 PM UTC

The Partition in the Painting, & the Tender Recollection

September 17th – 18th, 2020 The Tourists are Attracted with Smiles, Laughter, and Photographs Among Each Other The Men in Blue Vests – They Spy Art, They Glimpse it, & See it Spreading like Wildfire They Think it’s Message is Meant to be Contained The People in the Neighborhood – They Distinguish them as Individual Landmarks The Colors Inside a Kaleidoscope – Sunset Orange, Chocolate Brown, the Rainbows Found Inside SweeTARTS They Light up the Wall like Imaginary Streetlamps in the Woods of Tahoe It’s a Place Filled with So Much Beauty, but it’s a Vision that Many Will Never Get to View Murals – they Speak the Voices of Cultures of the Past, Homes of Today, Ancestral Voices Echo The Generations of the Future Gaze on Now Fruits Shared in Baskets – Births, Babies, Nectarines, Coffee Beans, Lentils & Honey Wine, Held in the Painted Woman’s Hands Eyes See through the Graffitied Concrete, its Too Much for Many to Bear, Some Refuse to Stare, Yet they’d Leave their Mundane Sight Behind if they Did It’s a Reminder of Oppression, the Portraits Once Blacklisted, the Beauty Once Boycotted The Colors on the Wall – They Remain Something Many Try to Silence & Quell But the Murals are a Gift, One that Still Beams in the Optics of the Youth, when their Parents Drive them in the Backseats of Explorers, When They’re Stuck on the Ride to School It’s a Badge of Home, a Symbol they May or May Not Know, a Mark they Both Love & Hate The Pictures Spoke Louder than the People

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April 17th, 2017 Some people hate the rain They think it’s a pain I know they’re not right I think it’s a delight Their lack of appreciation is insane

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Oct 1, 2020

Oct 1, 2020 at 12:57 PM UTC

Lluvia de Amor

April 17th, 2017 Some people hate the rain They think it’s a pain I know they’re not right I think it’s a delight Their lack of appreciation is insane

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