out to walk
my dachshund and me
a gray streak is all you see
passersby in daily parade
me, the dog and gator aide
silver haired streams
seniors roam
travelled trails lead from the home
pastel processions in vestal white
naughty nighties in plain sight
minus a mass
memory lapse
bathroom breaks and after naps
seniors pass in parade
dashing like a barefoot brigade
HAIBUN
School is cancelled due to four inches of snow and ice. My feet are cold. The window brings in gray’s, white’s, and brown’s. The tree soldiers look angry – stark and harsh. I feel colder when I get closer to the window which is decorated with frost.
so stark and dreary
the black branches of winter
bringing us jack frost
The older I got my youth washed away
through the frozen waterfalls and cold rocks,
tripping on moss waiting for the next day.
Nurturing was fictional to the flocks
of starving young, instead steel chains and locks.
Famished for affection we wanted to
be scooped up in loving arms, kissed goodnight,
teased and played with, and had fun things to do.
Father worked very hard, came home then right
out at night, glad that we were out of sight.
The fights were horrendous over money;
we shook like leaves over our father's wrath.
Never any jokes, nothing was funny,
always had to cope with the aftermath.
We loved him, though we stayed out of his path.
Love is meant to be warm and breathtaking,
when nonexistent it is heartbreaking.
1/24/2018
Poetry Contest: 'A STUNNER JANUARY 2018'
Sponsored By: Line Gauthier
For a moment
the sun is bright,
blinding, burning, cold and white.
Quick with winter's chill
gray white clouds stretch and flow in quiet and still.
Winter's fifty shades of gray
play artist with the sky of day.
The earth rests tattered with fallen leaves
held stiff, frozen like an ocean tide heaves.
Soon the day is done and night comes
black with ivory stars, lights falling crumbs.
The shortest day of light arrives
closing in to sleep in cold disguise.
An hour past midnight the moonlight glows
and in the guiding light I walk
pondering the gift of winter snows.
Green foliage grays at full age,
loses grip at the stir of a delicate breeze.
Others, lush and luxuriant,
snap in a gale.
And some budding, too,
before beauty unfurls, are clipped by
nature's pruning clipper. Others watch,
pondering their dream.
Yet wind caresses, storm howls,
leaves green; sprouting flowers
push to unfold their beauty,
oblivious of lurking threat
to cherished hope. And when?
On whom will the gust swoop?
Does the pruning clipper clip for fun,
or to keep the hedge in shape?
Clip, clip, the rending clicks!
Patter, patter, rains drum!
Dewdrops glisten at dawn
as bees buzz in the garden.
The sun rises in colors,
doing nature's daily grind
while beauty fades, forgotten.
Confetti, the gaiety of the times,
cascade, crushed by uncaring feet.
Their beauty, trampled out,
consigned to dust.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Clothe me in grays of pain!
Dead sun's ember
cannot warm a heart cold
with detachment.
Solitude, closest friend,
you remember
the days I walked life's road
with contentment.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, August 20, 2015
mother turns her head to
see her son’s hair in the
light shining above the
breakfast table all laid out &
spots a gray---
the dark brown hair once flailing
behind the drumset in the
garage
during the teenage years,
has begun to go away &
it makes her feel older than she
is herself,
having earned her grays raising
him,
having watched her own youth
fade away &
now seeing her son’s
disappear with the years,
the overwhelming rapidity
(and ultimate demise)
of a human life
swells within her.
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