A small gust of air
and then a flash of rainbow
A dragonfly
My thoughts wander
Why are they compared
To  majestic
Creatures of lore
When they are no longer
Than my shortest finger?
I shake my head
It is hard to stay focused
In this hot muggy air.
My fishing rod hangs limply
Over the unnervingly
Clear pond
My eyes drift over
To a patch of water lilies
Their petals droop
in the hot muggy air
I see their roots
And recall how easy it is
to pull one up and out
Stirring up the pond floor
In a flurry of mud
I sigh and lean back,
The old dock creaking
Taking special care
To avoid splinters
From the brittle wood
My feet-
Are the only cool part of me.
A drop of sweat
Snakes down my leg
And with a soft sound
Drops down
To join the rest of the water.
I am growing impatient.
The fish and I
Have something in common
We are lazy in the heat.

The blue bike
on the side of the road.
The sky blue bike,
ready to fly.
That's when I asked,
How? Why?
The blue bike crashed,
flying too high.
Now it's abandoned,
waiting there  alone.
Waiting for someone to pick it up,
willing to fly with it again.
So I took the battered blue bike,
and began to fly.

I am a girl of solitude
My thoughts
Are simple tales
Of confusion
Will my words always be
Darkening coals
Instead of leaping flames?

I am neither free or in prison
Without light
I still long to speak
Seeking danger
While pleading for rescue
Seems to be my futile attempt

Abandoning hope,
A cry of anguish
Escapes my mouth
It quickly closes
Startled
I can speak?

I try once again,
But this time
I sing  
The words are nothing
But it's pure tone
is everything to me

I can speak.
As I sing
The muddle
Spills out
Like water
Tumbling over stones
It rushes to leave
As light pours in.

As the last drops
Of darkness
Trickles out
I wonder,
Has sunlight
Always been this bright?

My mind and eyes
Must have been
Simply asleep.

Mid bitter air,
and swirling storms
old Washington Park
may seem forlorn.


Many a stranger
rush through the snow
eager to leave,
eager to go.


The benches were cold,
frosted with white
not a decent seat
to spend the night.


Standing overhead,
the benches of white
were tall lanky lampposts
lighting the night.


And if a stranger
would stop to take a look
the scene might really
be from a book.


The proud  trees were adorned
with teardrops of ice,
When  the sun hits just right,
it looks quite nice.  


Beneath the trees,
lay soft white snow
under the tall lamps
it seemed to glow.


Some may dash,
Through the cold bitter air
Wrapped in scarves,
Not seeming to care.


That they are missing
Much more than they know,
But just can’t see it
‘Cause all the dang snow

Over the sprawling hill
With labored breath
I burst over the top
The sun has beat me though


It’s bright yet cold rays
Illuminate the morning scene
Hardly breaking to skirt around trees
And clearing the diamonds of dew.


The emerald valleys and pale peaks
Seem to shiver
As the dawn chases away
The chill of the night.


I smile as the soft colors
Though not as vibrant as dusk
Gradually fade away
And the birds begin their songs


Their songs echo
Through the endless yet grounding
Green hills and valleys
Of  Saratoga Park.


They seem like a tribute
A monument
To the cost of freedom
Here fought for.


A thump is heard
As I collapse on to the damp earth
With the futile attempt
To absorb the serenity.

A fire burns in my throat that can not escape,
my restraining tongue and lips bind it.
they should be grateful for this tongue of mine,
for if the fire escaped,
they would no longer be laughing.
For my fire is one of vengeance,
a searing whip; that on it,
has the broken shards of a soul.
They would feel the backlash of their taunts,
their stereotypes,
and their prejudice,
along with their own scorn.
But I hold my tongue,
creating the illusion that I am naïve,
a timid bird with shut wings;
I am something different though.
I am the feeling of exuberance,
of hard won independence,
a roaring beast thats magnificent wings
are aflame.
Aflame with the sweet knowledge of truth.
sparking with the truth that justice exists,
and tables can turn.
Lucky for them,
my phoenix of revenge
lays smoldering in the dark.