breathe
echoed silences of gray 4 a.m.'s
stained hardwood planks under my ugly feet
the brittle cold of dawn in autumn
brings it back to the hollow chimes sent in harmony.
but i breathe ....
some canada geese squawk out from the gray
only pretty when they cannot speak to you
sinking low and piercing cold, bleak days
she pulls strong to take front point.
but i still breathe.
radio station tapes, long ago days of wine and roses,
you care, but you fiddle .....
and i never know the score to the biggest game of my life.
i breathe... and i wait...
life is what happens... it's life, bebie... come and go
to the chimes in the saddest hours of morning..
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hhmmm, having been put in the position of "trying" to be clever with the content of this bio, i find myself at a loss. i'm better at the impromptu i believe. anyway, i write "poetry" which my family and friends patronizingly say is fine. however, the professor at our local college, (Bucks County, Pa. Poet Laureate for several years) seemed to have quite a different and less complimentary opinion. (smile).. i write for therapy which is more than any person should expect. it seems to be safer than medication and a lot less expensive.
i'm not an artist, a photographer, a musician, or a math teacher. i do APPRECIATE art, film, music and i like math. (smile).. i travel the highway and i have 13 earrings in my left ear. that's all i can think of that's "clever". |
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