Pre97 3 Poems

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