Reading my Writings….

Reading my own writings, #54 on My List of 65 Things to do After Turning 65.

Last night, at Stage Three Saturday Night, a wonderful little song circle that has evolved from the temporarily closure, due to covid19, of Good Vibes Coffeehouse, I read some of my own writing.

Some of my poetry from the mid 70’s.

Seasons

The leaf, it lays there 
all shriveled and dead.

Upon it, snow
will make it's bed.

Come spring, it will be
nothing but dirt.

And a flower, will sprout
and the sun will come out.

Pink

Some people think
That I am just a dink.
On a rink, wearing pink.
With dirty dishes in the sink.

But in a blink
I could make a stink.
And call them a fink.
Because that's what I think.

As I  wear my mink
Down by the rink.
Neither of them
The colour pink.

I Do Not Know 

I do not know
who you are.
I do not know
where you've been. 
I do not know
what you've done.
I do not know.
what you've become 
I do not know
how you are.
I do not know 
how you got so far.
So far, so far, so far
away from me.
I do not know 
why you came.

One Single Day

The dark crevices of my mind
were waiting, waiting 
for me to step inside.
To be devoured, or to be saved.
Calling to me,
'Enter, Enter'

I stepped forth into a nothingness. 
A nothingness that knew everything. 
Voices began to call out
from every corner of the darkness.
Old memories sprang up 
as brilliant as rainbows, 
and disappeared, as quickly 
as they had arrived. 

A day from the past came to be
Like a movie.
It showed everything that had occurred 
Then spun quickly, into reverse
and stopped, at the very beginning. 
Slowly, it began to move forward. 
But different than before.