On a country sign.
Beside art, and ice creams.
Read it, if you can!
Signs, Signs….
Tag: #poetry
Winter Time, and the Livin’ is Easy
Winter time,
and the wind
it is a blowin'.
Everyime
you turn around,
it is a snowin'.
Except for this year,
with
El nino,
You never know
which way
it is a goin'.
Where the Birds Fly…..
I fly through the sky
With my eyes open wide.
My world has been opened wide.
I’ve held on with all my might
Even the little blue bird
Can’t make it right
I cry with my eye.
With my eye
I cry.
I cry with my eye.
In time
To see the blue bird fly by.
And the leaf floats.
It’s a Funny World….
Tears flow down the window
as the snow melts upon the roof.
The old cow laughs
as it kicks the fresh manure from its hoof.
'It's a funny world'
I said.
As twilight
settled on my head.
The world is dark.
It has hit its mark.
'Everything is stark.'
Exclaimed the lark.
This poem is nuts.
It is full of ands and butts.
I pulled a thread.
My eyes popped right out of my head.
I found them in the morning,
resting quietly, under my bed.
I had rolled my eyes
right out of my head!
Psychological harassment!
That Perfect Cup of Coffee
Your favourite mug
is a must,
It adds a hug
so softly touched.
Pour it dark.
Pour it black.
Add some milk
to bring it back.
Those little beans,
harvested by little hands,
Bundled and brought,
from far away lands.
Who knows what's in them?
We don't care.
Just make it quick
While I stand,
and stare.
Drink it alone,
or with a friend.
Black coffee
Espresso
Latte, hot or cold
Americano
Cappiccino
Mocha
Cafe Au Latte
Macchiato
Flat White
Irish coffee
Frappe
Cold brew
Affagato
Red eye.
Or prehaps a large, half-caf,triple-shot,caramel,mochano foam, extra whipped cream, extra hot, upside-down, caramel drizzle, with seven pumps of caramel syrup and seven pumps of mocha syrup, double blended frappaccino.
Just make mine with a large splash of milk.
My mug adds a love that is forever felt!
Footsteps of Blue
Footsteps of blue,
means the ice is cold.
Stopping outside,
is being bold.
The pot near the rainbow,
is full of gold.
The world is changing,
so I'm told.
It's going so fast,
it's got me feeling old.
Only when I need to,
Age, it's making me Bold!
Scars
A scar
is but a jagged line.
Left for years
to refine.
The pain is big.
The pain is small.
Sometimes,
there is no pain at all.
There is a scar
in the tree,
from where
this branch used to be.
The blue birds move
nearer the tree.
Nearer the tree,
but further from me.
Oh, to be a squirrel….
Oh, to be a squirrel
Find a comfy branch
Give your tail a swirl.
Find a nut!
Sit on your butt!
Keep your mouth shut!
Maybe, a chair
Can relax your hair.
Knowing that there is nothing
You need to share.
When you don’t have a nest
But need a little rest
Sit on someone else’s house
Leave a big mess.
Give a loud scream
You’re not very mean.
Oh, to be a squirrel
In this crazy old world.
When Your Right Hand Can’t Right….
What do you write
when you're writing hand
can't write.
Try as you might,
you just can't get it right.
It's either too dark,
or maybe it's too light.
Or prehaps I'm gripping
my pencil to tight.
It's becoming a fright,
this inability to write.
I may fight,
this desire to write.
It gives me a fright,
as I sit here all night,
bathed in artificial light.
Studying this hand on my right,
which, at this moment,
cannot write.
Try as I might,
I can't allow my left hand
to take over for the right.
To write.....
Fred, the Fly.
There was a little fly,
his name was Fred.
He flew into a car,
looking for some shade.
There, he saw a little girl
who decided to become his friend.
She allowed him to explore.
She allowed him to fly.
He sat on her orange juice lid,
and he looked her in the eye.
She shared with him
her bright orange,
orange juice.
He stayed close by her side.
He took a little sip.
He shook his little head.
He was a little tired,
so he went straight to his little bed.
She decided to let him stay.
She decided he could go.
It was his decision.
This she let him know.
Today, he is still
in the car.
Wondering
where you are.
Groovy Tales of a Well Adult 