Words Worth A Thousand Pictures

May 2019

Keith Wilson

The Majestic English Oak
that stands proudly
in the corner of our garden
popular with the squirrels

Oak was used for ship-building
for years
noted for its resistance to water
Ours looks about eighty feet tall
overshadowing
the other trees

Superb!

May 2019

Star BG

Rain Rain

Rain, rain come today
plants are hungry I do say
flowers want to bloom for eyes
giving beauty as they rise

Rain, rain do not stay
I know rainbows on its way.
I will than take camera out
with a smiles I’ll click and shout

Inspired by Poetry Journal Thanks

#rain

May 2019

The Masked Sleepyz

The Anxious Await of Tomorrows

I don't write these very well,
But here it goes,
The fragility of a Sunday night,
In between talks and smiles,
Little words with big implications,
Sometimes much isnt said,
But it's always enough,
It's always tough standing outside,
Saying the good nights and safe ride,
The creeping on of tomorrow,
When yesterday went too soon,
I feel like a kid,
Who has to go to school the next day,
But instead of seeing the hallways and the homework,
I wont be seeing you,
So I hold on tight to tonight,
And tighter to the chance of seeing you again,
I look ahead not because it's easier,
Than what I've had in the past,
Or because it's softer,
It's because it's just you.
The beauty of normalcy,
Entranced by the renewed excitement,
That we have today.
Today, it was after the rushed slow down,
The lingering smell of coffee and sobriety,
Driving home, with hope driving,
Speeding through the stretched desert with windows down,
That I realized,
The slow step into infinity
Is what I've built my second chance life around,
And I get to take each one,
Holding the hand that belongs to you.
With each leg lifted,
There are a million songs sang together,
Thousands of documentaries,
Hundreds of screams from jump scares,
And tens of adorable animals,
But it all comes back to one night.
The night I met you.

Been a while dear reader

May 2019

The Masked Sleepyz

Meetings After Dark

Lightning past the wells Fargo building,
Central and pima,
The build up is always stronger
Than the break apart,
Cozy houses showing lives that we can always fantasize about,
Smells of rain,
Tastes like electric feels,
Clouds of vapor play with the fears of yesterday,
Were all underneath something,
Because we don't know what else to do,
It's more of a drizzle,
But the lightning pays no mind,
Reflective headlights bounce back thoughts,
The road is barely wet,
And the skyline seems to know it,
It's a good feeling,
Watching that lightning,
Maybe someone else,
Is fantasizing about,
That cozy house too.

May 2019

The Masked Sleepyz

Another trip.

She's crying over text messages,
As the pink haired ****** decides it's time,
The dope always wins,
The lady behind me has flowers,
With a note tucked,
It says,
"Dedicated to the little moments".
The former **** with crossed oot S's,
Smiles at a skinny Jew,
We do change,
Most of the time over a ride,
But usually the ride lasts the lifetime,
She's no longer crying,
Trying to be strong like her mama once told her,
When she fell,
The college kid in tucked flannel reads chapter 45,
Of a book that is blank,
The pages scream, "fill me in!"
He checks his wallet, not knowing what else,
To do,
The poet is in the front,
Or the back,
It depends on which way you're going,
He writes this little story,
Tapping a face that reflects his good,
Intentions,
He has to write the opera of souls,
Poured out,
He signs off,
Another Lightrail Tale.

Part of the series

May 2019

Micheal Wolf

Earlston Cemetery

Buds pushing up and the dew of night still hanging from them as each morning they show some more of their beauty. The grass now growing again after it's winter sleep. Mornings brighter and bird song at 4am. Wet shoes as we walk through the field as the night still clings to each blade of grass. The moss now dying on the pourous headstones and staining the rock beneath.

Warm sun and a lush canopy of every green, eyes squinting through sunrise, the smell of fresh cut lawns and the smell of barbeque coals soaked in juices drifting from the gardens nearby. Late evenings and children playing till the street lights glow. The sound of foxes barking as I try to sleep. Out gathering and walking the paths I walked.

Dried leaves crushed underfoot, announcing the change of season as the nights come sooner and the sun loses it's heat. They are the days I will remember most of our autumn. As a temporary death comes to the place of death. The umbrella of multicoloured beauty falls in the breeze and blown to dance like spirits. The last flowers dried and decaying, Rain becomes colder the foxes no longer bark.

The leaves now gone, trees naked and cold. Redundant nests tossed in the wind and decay all around above and beneath the ground. Only the sparce laurels and holly show any green. The grass covered in a thin layer of white muddied by feet passing through. Not as idyllic as a Christmas card or calender. But this is my place. Where my best friend sleeps. The daily walk with my dog. My solace. Often my only peace, my only escape. Now, I share it with you.