It was a gift
to be able to slow dance
when the sabers
and curses
were flying.
Art lovers
He liked sitting in front of the Rothko,
she envied his ability to feel things
— just by looking at colors.
She wondered if people
ever bother really seeing anyone else
or do we all look at things to see
ourselves reflected…
She followed Rodin’s ridges nose to toe,
actually touched a Van Gogh iris,
and shivered past a Warhol.
Not quite on the mountaintop
I’m too simple really;
I’d like to sit here
in my warm cotton aura
and be wise without worry,
old without ache.
I’ve lost the need to rise
but I love to twist.
Kiss the sky
In between
morning and evening,
like when the sky yawns
from purple to blue to orange
and back again,
my heart seeks the kissing times-
a break from papers and bread.
I like the moments
when I’m surprised
amid the humdrum,
like when love turns
from gentle to jackhammering.
The view looking back
The Golden times
are a myth born of
tears mucking up
the view…
we still had fields to see
and clouds to rifle
but the words were thick
and our song shaky,
leaving today with
dreams of scales
and windy drives
with so much quiet, it hurts.
The Word Rummager 