Trixie has disappeared, tired of writing mushroom poems I guess.
Come out, I say. I cannot pen missives without her, I confess.
She has left me in a bind, in the dust, in a totally bereft mess.
I will do whatever you want I say, casually meaning more or less.
Trixie pops up long enough to suggest Coleridge, she has nerve!
I am not an Old Master; Trixie is vim, sass, vigor, zing and verve!
Okay, what about Poe? She says, the only thing is, he was a perve.
I pussyfoot around her next suggestion as she rounds a curve.
Trixie is very much in charge of what I do, write or say.
She can make or break me with my words every single day.
I do not know how she got the reigns of my pen so dapple gray.
But she is the one I turn to if I want my words to sway.
So I promise her the moon, rice krispie treats and other gooey things.
She is slapping a tambourine, and deems herself one of the kings.
I give her all the credit, for I have learned lessons the hardest way.
And in order to write poetry I need Trixie my muse back today!
Marsh yellow marigold, purple water iris,
and salmon water spider lilies grow
against the edge of the large pond
filled with cool spring water,
fed from underneath the earth.
Beneath the welcoming cool shade
and dapple-gray shadows of a tall black willow
I stand embracing peaceful comfort.
I close my eyes and inhale the sweet fresh air.
I Bend down, pick up the perfect stone;
with a steady aim, I throw it.
In impact the stone makes a splash,
a resounding plunk.
I watch it skip across the pond's surface making
glimmering ripples.
Observing the ripples;
an album of daydreams opens up about the past.
Moments of clarity and purpose, of secrets,
pain and healing, bringing alive hope,
and love that entered my heart.
In hand, I held a pebble of my life that could
have so easily been thrown away.
3/21/2022
Fields with corn erect in shock,
Few unpicked ears yet dangle.
A signal to soon set back the clock,
Wind caroms from a nor-west angle.
Leaves of gold crunch neath my feet,
My joints scream, "Old Jack Frost is nigh"!
I unwittingly question this October treat,
Whether for my head only, and if so, why?
Pumpkins remain randomly spaced,
As dollops of orange paint on this fall day.
By a flick of God's brush they appear placed,
From the sky above of dapple-gray.
This yearly picture always gives me pause,
For reflection on life, and God above;
That He would give His Son with cause,
The price for my sin was paid through love.
The staccato stammering of bass guitar’s play
punctuated with the flash of purple strobe light.
Limitless is the vista of black and gray fright
ominously smothering the crowd’s ghoulish array.
Framed, as if frozen, in this acid white display,
some stagger in mimicking movements of blight
trapped between the pulse of night and daylight
Maudlin in the rigors of dapple-gray.
Upon invisible strings they dance in disarray.
Life existing only in the limits of after sight,
entranced in the apocalyptic crash of might,
the harsh, hard, synthesis disperses at mid-day.
The Marriage One Spring
Carriage was white and horses dapple-gray.
Dreamy, like a fairytale, true love that day.
Sparkling eyes lit up the dressing room
Hidden away from the guests and bridegroom.
Time had arrived; music began to play.
The Wedding March.” rang on that special day,
Strikingly posh was the most gorgeous gown.
Gleaming with love the bride slowly walked down.
The bridegroom, smiling, would make vows for life
There at the church, the bride became his wife.
Lovers together kissed wearing their rings.
Then, rode to forever, love, one warm spring.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
January 27, 2010
The strumming of the guitar
Watch and wait while the sun sits
Glorious colors of blush
Orange kisses of a crimson movement
Hush
Listen, the violins are weeping so slowly
Music to my ears and natures tears
Fall beside the late day shadows
Dark dapple-gray clouds mesmerizes
Flutes of majestic mountaintops sing
Whisper winds
Whisper so low
Wailing loons calling out to the end of day
Calling on her mate
Calling on her lonely cries
And so to the small hours that melt on by
Echoing silence
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