A lone bird beats its wings
silently through the rain.
Flying south-west for the winter
as it has no companions to indicate exactly
which way south is.
Somehow born without such instincts
it struggles against the current of wind
continuously reinforcing a mindset
of complete endurance.
So it will trek the stormy skies
for many winters to come -
bound by an endless cycle of
lost-but-just-certain in knowing
it simply has to keep going.

This little squirrel Quill
                      He lived over the highest hill -
                                 He pined all day with nuts to collect
                      To protect for long winters.
Quill climbed the tallest
                       trees and still he
                               hid from large eagles till
                       He knew he could safely return home
                                 burrowed in his log.
Mr. Squirrel Senior Quill warned
                       "Don't be long, it's nearly dawn!"
                                  But little Quill amused himself
                         and ate acorns to meet his fill.
He didn't worry or scurry home -
                         He took his time,
                                   He sang a rhyme
                         He made a friend: 'Jerome' the gnome,
                                   He sang and sought a new way home.
Mrs. Squirrel Quill, she drilled and drilled:
                         "Where were you? what happened?!"
                                    Her mother's voice shrill.
                          "I, uh, I was ill!" said Quill, "terrible case
                                    of Squirrel's fill!"
Hiding the nuts, he smiled wide;
                           He was happy, little Quill -
                                    Free and filled.

(C) 6/1/15
Courtney L

I'm numb.
                         I succumb.
                   I become
                                      None.
          Not who I was -
                       Not a variation.
        I forfeit
                I distort
                           Perceptions,
                                       Recollections.
            I weave
   I believe
               I tried.
                                Endless;
                        I'll end this.
             Extend this -
Pretend for this,
                       I'll choose.
                  For who?
                            - Not who I was,
     Nor possibilities.
                        But facilities:
       Could they fix I?
                                         Would they dare try?
  Under a dark sky
                    I'll wonder why:
            It's daylight outside
                         but I'm surrounded by
  deep waves of  
                               endless
                                                   night.

What summertime brings
lingers evidently on her
glowing golden skin -
she wears it proudly.
Accessorized with
her pearls for teeth and
hair the sun lightly bleached to
fall into sandy-blonde wisps that
dance like the waves
she runs next to.
Screaming freedom down
the beach she clasps her
sun-hat like a prize -
she stops to gaze at the
wonder of blue surrounding
her view,
just as it does each
summertime.