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Uprooted

Roots and searching for answers
Tiny boxes music dancers
Small, petite, and slowly climbing
Slowly songs release, forever winding
Absent end one dive from death
And snow falls with releasing breath
Black Boxed in space sister son
Exhale, inhale   dancer sings
And down a path change on wings
Fly betwixt trees to coo “halloo”
Sister son Mother daughter
Father brother aunt with lover
Reuniting family
Silence persists into ecstasy
Final escape


A painter of Butterflies

Butterflies swarming, flying around
This beautifully petite, small little town
The swarm shifts both boldly and shy
left, right, in every direction it does fly

An artist sits admiring his portrait-picture
His wife calls “lunch” he immediately responds to her
Plodding inside, Bang, the screen door slams shut
In the sky this a magnificent multicolored dot
“If that screen door slams one more time I’ll go insane”
Blocking her out he stares at his art through the window pane

Bla-Bla this and Bla-Bla that all she seems to do is talk
La-La, ga-gu-ga about everything she does gawk
“Henry-Henry there was this beautiful quilt...”
His vision to her he must tilt

Into our view something beautiful flies
Millions, Millions of multicolored butterflies
Upon the barn they descend
Sitting down they reach their end

When they see them the husband starts to laugh
For his wife cries out in utter wrath
“Those butterflies, Henry-Henry, now that’s not the right color blue
Henry-Henry, start painting again is what you must do.”

Not much later that old man reluctantly climbs his ladder
And chuckles for below the congregated start their chatter



One of Millions

There is a boy whose clothing is in shambles
He forms no words yet on and on he rambles
To his private world a beautiful perception
Of what life would be like without the great depression
He stops his murmurs to wipe away a helpless tear
For he knows he can not subdue, not even there
The reality in which he doth dwell
A virtual perception of a living hell
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