There are so many versions of me
That I feel lost at sea.
There is me, and there is you,
There is myself, a little elf,
and a broken shoe.
They all try to surface
They all are submerged.
There are too many
I feel the need to purge.
Who needs to go
Who needs to stay
Who needs to be kept
For a rainy day?
All of you,
I think.
I'd want all of you,
in a blink.
You are my ink.
You are my pen.
You help me think.
To begin, again.
The Rain.
The Rain, fell.
The Rain, fell, upon the ground,
Upon the ground.
The Rain, fell,
The Rain.
Turn your rainstick, around, and up and down.
Once upon a bearded birdhouse
Socks had been hung out to dry.
He was shaking out the rug
When dust got in his eye.
He cried to his momma
He cried to his pop.
Nothing they tried
Could make the pain stop.
Along came a pretty lady
With a hop, hop, hop.
She spotted the tiny tear
And decided she must stop.
She kissed the wet cheek
She pecked the wet ground.
Up popped a juicy worm
Which she quickly found.
They all had dinner
Their dishes wiped clean.
The dust eventually settled
A tear was nowhere to be seen.
This is not a true story
Just a bit of nonsense
About a bearded birdhouse
Filled with incense!
Pussy willows
Cattails
Runny jam and spiders.
Sunshine
Snowflakes
Raindrops and showers.
Gravel roads
Spiderwebs
Earwigs on flowers.
Troubadours
Trumpets
Crazy horses trotting.
Tulip bulbs
Hunger years
Small children crying.
Clouds above
Heaven above
God's arms open wide.
Looking at the world
through rose coloured glasses.
As the winds and clouds roll by.
Like thoughts and ideas,
they make smooth passes.
My feelings;
like dots in the sky.
Surrounding yourself pleasantly
is difficult sometimes.
The flowers and the trees,
are not always in rhyme.
My expectations are like chimes,
in what a world finds fair.
So different is the light
that my daydreams share.
Two swans dancing.....
In a farmer’s flooded field…..
To The Thawing Wind by Robert Frost
Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the browns beneath the whites;
But whatever you do tonight,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass, and leave the sticks
Like a hermits crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o’er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out the door.
White is white
Black is black
Grey is grey
White is not White
It it winter
It is ivory
It is bone
It is bright
Black is not black
It is raven
It is dusk
It is ebony
It is midnight
Grey comes through in many shades
It is blurred
It is clear
It is smudged
It is dear
Grey is like a newspaper
It is black and white
And read all over.
A tulip popped out of the ground.
It made sure no one was around.
It took off its shirt.
Which fell in the dirt.
It turned red without making a sound.
I had a wooden shoe.
It was quite new.
I put it on my feet.
They felt really neat.
How they both fit in, I haven't a clue.
Red is a colour I like.
It is the colour of my new bike.
I rode it to the bar.
Thought it would be safer than driving my car.
Now, onward home, I hike.
There was a hat on my head
Last night, when I went to bed.
My husband laughed.
He thought me daft.
Now, there is a pot on his head.
I made a person cry today.
She was a lady of an age that I once used to be.
Her circumstances, though, just a little bit different.
She was standing on the corner of a street.
The light turned red.
So my car came to a stop.
Her face was really sad.
Her clothes, dirty and worn.
Her expression told me that she was not expecting anything from the gray-haired lady who had pulled up alongside her.
I opened my purse.
I pulled out a bill.
She accepted the money and said,’Thanks, and God Bless.’
I told her to take care of herself, as she began to cry.
The light turned green.
A tear rolled down my face.
And my car rolled away.
Be kind to someone today.
We are all butterflies.
Groovy Tales of a Well Adult 