Pigeons flutter high above the north end of the lake. It was reported that these birds put a rare smile on Mr. Kendall’s face. This was the meeting place where his mate and he would come to spend their days gazing at the reflected beauty of this aerial dance. Now as he surveys the scene, he gets stuck in memories, each coo and squeak reminded him of his wife’s soft voice. It was a real treat to hear again; it made him laugh and he sure did need it.
Your sweetie as the apple of your eye may hold some truth, but who knows why a camel would want to pass through the eye of a needle? It would be a tight fit; it sends shivers down my spine to sit and think it. I figure it would be easier for it to sleep in the trees until dawn falls from the midnight sky (and you know how fragile a breaking dawn can be!) Living vicariously though beasts of burden is better than having resinous residue leaving stains on your clothing! Certainly not MY cup of tea! Speaking of tees, it would almost be like having your hope crushed after driving to within a foot of the 18th pin, only to quadruple bogie the hole! I’d be spewing dark words for sure! Instead, I’m left digging a ditch and loving it, knocking on the door like an opportunity worn thin, stirring from my idleness and I guess as long as I don’t foam at the mouth, it will have been a good day!
Thoughts that go askew fill my mind in random ways. It’s one of those days!
Billed as the AlabasterDisaster,
a fighter by his trade,
he made his bread
taking blows to the head
with such force that
of course, his thoughts
were in chaos. Graphic
violence does that to plastic people; when he hit the height,
no one else reached his altitude.
But when he fell, it felt as if life
was a bottomless mine.
I come to the grounds of your rest; the best I can do to be with you today. The sky is unsettled, and dreams long since dreamed landclumsilyshattering like glass. I rub your stone; an image of your name in charcoal remains, stains of a heart broken, this small token of the life you gave me. I listen and murmurs blown though barren tree branches whisper, waiting for the axe to fall. And all at once it vanishes. Memories of a mother departed still close to heart.
Every day, and all night long a raucous song rings out loud, shouts and cheers, frothy beers and what doesn’t Tequila will only make you fall flat on your face. This place is crazy… a reason to celebrate and be lazy. The only way – a playful day full of fiesta. Party and karamu, forever!
I sit along the shore, mesmerized by waves in their cyclical samba rolling and trolling on the lake of hopeful dreams. Screams of children playing in the surf, scattering – chattering in an endless drone screeches and squeals, peels of raucous running and splashing, flashing sunshine from their gleeful eyes. Skies, blue and reflective subjected to the whimsy of wide-eyed wonder under the spell of tides. There comes a lull, children amassed like seagulls, charging & retreating. Bleating like sea birds, indistinguishable in their spirit. You can hear it in the children’s joy.
i’ve been mad for f*%##$! years,
words in arrears and fears they would never
be read before I’m dead. (Even after, I’m sure).
file cabinet full and spilling to the floor.
trolling the world wide waters I found this clever
invitation, luring my stagnation of words
into the radiant bright sunshine in rhyme.
the unexpected under-achiever, and what’s more
the guy who couldn’t get his words to fly
no matter how he tried. who’s to say a poem
a day was the way to have my words read let alone, heard?
but my word, it brought me to let my words soar.
did I plan to be a poet? ever?
If you had asked me then, I’d have said, “absurd!”
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014