Thursday, July 27, 2017

my poem

    childhood is buried deep within oneself, not hiding but sunken into a memory, a silent lane under weeping trees, small sparrows watching quietly in a hollow of the forest. childhood is a silly bear, whose eyes are filled with enchantment and endless running. it is the silken, fallen leaves whose language we have all but forgotten, save for the child whose heart is the forest and sea, who understands all languages of the earth and the skies.
    childhood, that waundering life of color and landscape far above the moon's universe. the children in us wait, but live without us......until we turn to see our own smiling faces, the face of our child.

an old poem by me

their stare seems as if it were a foreign land, rustic coats wearing in dark and cold.
jumping children, light surrounding.....light enveloping, new and different and dangerous, but silly, children playing in spheres of white.
as wild grasses play under the tall, sleepy trees, i remember looking at the green, beautiful leaves and thinking they were perfect. they were happy and giggling.
a princess, playing in a play, pouring shakespeare from a dream.
winter and bears, cotton horses and water rippling with beams and glistenings.
winter and windows and light and memories.
and grey shadows, quiet
grey
shadows 

by me


Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Friday, July 14, 2017