Cloak and Dagger

pen and dagger

Creeping in, it caught me unaware

In the dead of night, where dreams slither

With stealth it creeps like smoky vapor

My spirit cries out in apprehension.

 

It wore a cloak and dagger,

Which dripped words undeclared

Empty parchment waiting

To be soaked with poignant imagery.

 

The cloak, but a shroud to hide behind

The dagger, a trusty friend

An extension of unconscious contemplation

Oozing thoughts, torn from heart to pen.

 

I am but a victim of resourceful temperament

Lost souls with untold stories clamoring for release

Mysteries yet unraveled, murders to be solved

Lingering shadows, bound by cloak and dagger.

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The Circle Resumes

birds - circle resumes

Sentries of the night stand guard in perfect formation
Across the stretch of wire, like clothespins on a line
While speckled flocks of grackle stain the landscape
Spots of black against a field of brown.

As if on cue, they choreographic their flight
Up and down, like waves at low tide
Just a ripple before they settle
Bobbing to a minuet as old as time.

Chatter of excitement as they discuss the day’s events
Children too excited to sleep, too restless to stay still
Something moves, and the sentries cry out a warning,
Taking flight, the sea bursts forth into the sky

Absorbing the last strands of light
They take flight across the shallow riverbed.
Reflections of black specks against the setting rays of sun
Up towards the back wash of brilliant pinks and yellows

Shards of cerulean attempting to hold back the sapphire night
A finger-painting of bleeding hues
Streaked across a mat from a single orange focal point.
A stroke of madness in a painting of harmony.

Night’s orchestra tunes up for tomorrows concert
They return at dawn to greet the day
Renewing once again the sonnet of the night
And the circle resumes.

*Photo from Clip art by Microsoft

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The Color of Eons

camels

 

In the vastest of the eastern landscape,

A ball of orange rises

Bathing sands of time in its brilliant hue.

 

Where Egyptian pharaohs

With their ladies danced

Building monuments that far outlived them.

 

Camels walk, where brave men venture

Religions as old as the ground they tread

Shifting sands with unaltered beliefs.

 

Time rolls across the dunes

Altering life and destinations

Buried stories, deep beneath its crust.

 

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Day Dreams and Magic

Day Dreams and Magic.

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Day Dreams and Magic

Image
 
I laid upon the grass one day
And dreamed of places far away
Of palace gates and carpet rides
Of dragon scales and moonbeam slides

Where butterflies were spun of gold
And Unicorns with fairies told
The tales of selkies and magic wands
Where rainbows dipped to drink from ponds

I rode the clouds amongst the trees
Catching rides on wings of bee’s
I danced a jig in clovers four
With elves and sprites from times of yore

I followed bunnies to their dens
Chased fireflies to earth again
To proudly stand on hollow ground
Where knights in armor once abound

Then back to sky I flew on leaves
That carried songs upon my sleeves
Back to the field where I reposed
To end my dream as daylight closed

 

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Battlefields of Discontented Dreams

Image

Another year has marched out of my life.

A crusading warrior making his way back home,

Leaving bloody battlefields in his wake.

Trampled valleys where dreams once stood.

 

In the beginning, the year tiptoed in,

Softly sprinkling crystallized wishes.

Ideas, floating like a fine dusting of snow,

Forming a light covering on my bed of anticipation.

 

In swept the Ides of Spring laden with promises.

Storms tossing my wants in a turbulent sea of needs.

I planted my seeds with the expectancy of progression,

Hoping to find nourishment for my battered soul.

 

Summer scorched a path through my life

Bringing passion and potential to my fertile soil

Growing, thriving, reaching for the budding of fulfillment

Hopes alive, green and fresh, standing tall against adversity.

 

Autumn flew in on the winds of a changeling,

Taking the abundance and leaving a barren field.

Stripped of optimism, I wander in the fields of despair,

Wondering where my footpath led me astray.

 

Yes wicked winter with your freezing rains.

You beat against me, leaving blisters in your wake.

But Spring will return, of this I am certain,

Bringing with it the possibilities of contentment.

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Different Strokes of Colors

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I knew a girl with polka dots
I saw her every day
Who could like a girl with spots?
I wish she’d go away.

Everyone like’s stripes you see
My group wore blue and green
We ruled the school with colors bold
All other colors are obscene.

We taunted dots and made her cry
Poked fun at her yellow and purple marks
Other kids joined in our fun
A prank, a laugh, a bit of lark.

Then one day her colors changed
The spots were gray and black
She hung her head when she left the school
She never did come back.

One day I asked a teacher where
The girl with dots had gone
She shook her head, looking at the class
She told us she had withdrawn.

Seems she had left the school one day
She walked along the riverbank
With backpack loaded with some rocks
She walked into the water and sank.

She left a note about how sad she was
That she just didn’t seem to fit
My friends and I just hung our heads
The blame was ours, I must admit.

Each day I walk along those shores
Each year I place a spotted wreath
For a different girl who had her place
Who didn’t deserve the grief.

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