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 May 2017 martin
Joel M Frye
The question is not when we meet our end,
but how, and how does not mean what you think.
Should it be fought, or welcomed as a friend?
To that I say, live to the very brink
however you have lived to now.  Each one
who walks though shadowed days finds their own pace;
some stride, some cringe, some stumble, others run.
What each can handle is what each will face.
If talking seems to help, then speak.  Or you
might soldier on, clad in your armored will.
No one can tell another what to do,
just what they've done, for better or for ill.
The path, if smooth or bumpy, is your own
and should you choose, you need not walk alone.
Some days all I can do for another is pray...and at the time, it never seems like enough.  Kol tuv.
 May 2017 martin
Valsa George
As the sun moves to the western horizon
Colors are skilfully blended in a palette
In an instant the sky becomes an exquisite canvas of art
Making even Van Gogh burn in jealousy

With the last glimmer of sunset
When the shadows chase the light,
The aerial folks fly back to their nests
Like black and white specks dotting the sky

With a dark drape stretched across the Earth’s face
The arrival of the night is a spectacular sight
Cicadas and crickets welcome her with their ceremonious band
And street lamps blink their eyes to catch a better view

While truant clouds still wander around aimless
The cerulean sky signals them to hurry
Stars slowly appear in the night sky
Like sequins stitched on to a blue brocade

The crescent moon smiles down
The empress of the night, proud and regal
She and her retinue keep guard over the slumbering Earth
The unpaid sentries of the night!

A gentle breeze makes a palanquin ride
Wafting in the scent of opening buds
The beauty of the night sends me to raptures
My heart exploding like foaming wine in a bottle

Yet I cannot but keep wondering
How many dark secrets
The night holds
Within her tenebrous folds!
What a pleasant surprise, this poem is made the daily. Thanks to everyone for making it possible through your likes and kind comments. These days I can't see the daily and I don't know where to look for it. The site is sometimes quite tricky.....Thanks a lot once again !
i could write the story of my life remembering all that was,

forgetting the things i forget. i couild start at the beginning,

work through to the end when it comes. it could be that way.



may be, i have already written much of it in bits and       scraps

here and there. such is the way of it. some things come random.



not as you expected.                     i was to tell my story, you said.



i cannot be

bothered. there is no interest.



if there is, it can be googled, gathered, stitched quilt like into some



image.



i cannot remember my granpa fondly, for he was dead a while before.



you told me your tale, silked tongue, the things you wished me to know.

not

impressed.



no need to impress. cat **** leaves on skin leave black marks. remember?



recall the smell.



i could write the story of my life.



sbm.
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