My mother makes afternoon tea
And small talk to neighborhood ladies.
Moments later she heads outside
To watch the children play
The sound of their laughter
Bubbling towards the blue sky.
Seasons past, days grey
Neighborhood friends retreat indoors.
The sunlight no longer meets her eyes,
She works the nightly hospital shift.
I worry her skin wraps too tightly around her bones
But when I ask, she smiles, takes my hand
And whispers something about old summer days.
happy thanksgiving! :)
Through the dancing leaves of the palms
And tufts of clouds that fill the skies
Like a hymn, a song, a prayer, a psalm
How beautiful is the sunrise
Curve by curve - gently rising
The orb of pink, then orange glow
Eyes like spheres hold the lighting
Enthralled as the gold grows
Inch by inch, his presence felt
The majestic sun - so bows the night
Heating the ground - the day melts
The breath of rays; the hope of life
Sing the birds their morning song
Spreading their wings to fly in bliss
I too sing along
Touched by the warmth -
Dreams are made of chocolate huts
With burgundy windows, cherry **** doors
Sweet icing on cream layered roofs
Almond -walnut -caramel floors
Dreams are made of iris and jasmine
Jacarandas lined in purple rows
Tree blossoms in clustered cobs
Petals that dance like a ballerina's toes
Dreams are made of fern green forests
Oakwood trees that cast a spell
A gossamer web of magic and charm
The music of clinking coins in a wishing well
Dreams are made of cerulean skies
Contrails of clouds in ivory snow
Violet mystic misty mountains
A tangerine orb riding a rainbow
Dreams are made of romance laced nights
A golden peach vanilla moon
Venus lighting, igniting,love's fire
The silhouette of love in rain soaked June
Dreams are made of turquoise seas
Calm waters stroked by gentle waves
Or enticed by the charm of a midsummer night
Waters that heavenly Cynthia craves
Dreams are made of silk and satin
Dappled with reds, greens and blues
But the dreams that I love to dream the most
Are all the dreams made of you
Written about 2 years ago
The full moon shines
through the canopy,
and she lets out a sigh
as the blue beams of light
wash everything under
the lost midnight sky.
A soft din in the forest
echoes with a chorus
of chirping crickets
and howling locusts
as she stretches out
atop fallen foliage.
Love flows as a river
through souls grown
and cleans us both
with liquid quicksilver,
in the forest tonight.
We all look up to the same sun.
To the same moon we confide.
We all look at them the same...
Hoping for the light of day...
Wishing for peace at night.
It seems that they are not just.
For their light is selective.
It is not available to those
heavily shrouded in the dark,
drenched in tears.
It seemingly favour those
who'd shamelessly croon for their boon.
Miscreants who shirk
their responsibilities and fears.
I beg you...
Guardian of day and sentinel in twilight.
May your arms be kind and fastidious.
May your reach be deliberate,
purposeful and extensive.
Find those who cry but without voice.
Cradle those who've made decisions
without the luxury of choice.
Shed some love so they could see
past their laboured breaths in mud.
Raise them to their feet
so that they might
have a fighting chance to live.
Fall is a extravagant grandeur
The finale of the seasonal livelihood
And the great composer flourishes its splendor
In a celebration of withered elegance.
Breezes whistle their chilling melody,
As trees strip their kaleidoscopic gowns.
Soft brown earth twinkles of warm rubies and gold,
And the sky is tinted with a silver haze.
Fragrant cinnamon spices
Mingle with pumpkin nutmeg.
From the distance, birds sing
A tweet-tweet autumn masterpiece.
Yet the grumbling vagrant saunters by
cursing the coming cold
between his chattering teeth.