Ring around crimson roses
butterscotch sun comes around,
lavishing mellow yellows upon
lifestyles on the ground.
Blank canvas
lies naked, cold and pale.
Master painter
paints a dream,
so a man without sight can see.
Master painter's palette enchants.
Sleeping grey pigments weep,
flowing crimson reds drip as
mellow yellows bring sparkle.
Navy blues dribble with royals,
as bright greens drizzle with
bursts of orange bowing
to sprinkles of gold.
Without a word,
each stroke dances
flowing like the sea,
where calm waves
salute unblemished shores.
Psychedelic impressions
shape illuminations,
creating images
like a mother's lullaby.
Silent One
Simple Musings
16 July 2017
Journey
I seek what dreamers seek;
Whenever I see the effects of bloody nonsensical wars and the horrific panic
on the faces of innocents
who have unwilling ears and uncertain hearts
When they cry out to God :
' WHY'? OH WHY?'
Sometimes life can be so brutally unfair. So unlike our Creator.
What have we become?
Therefore, I pray and
I do what dreamers do;
Retreating to peaceful harbors
and rivers that gently meander,
through peaceful meadows
down to the waiting blue sea,
sweet scents of flowers of
winds breath on a summer breeze.
I look for what dreamers seek
on journeys worth taking;
The crisp colors of fall,
mellow yellows and rusty reds,
nip and biting cold kisses of Jack frost
the smoky scents of leaves burning;
Harbingers of approaching winter
And I pray and therefore
do what dreamers do;
Praise in songs that calm my soul
reading by soft firelight
from your Words of wisdom,
writing poems of life and love....
Hiding myself in dreams of love's constant shelter,
because I have lived enough to know that life can be so unfair
and journeys worth taking
are dreams worth millions.
Copyright © Cheryl Koomoa 2016
Muted
Spring death rises from His trees
He painted with more than purple, blues
and
greens
He gave us more than angry reds and the
proverbial mellow yellows
He knows
His children
Needed more hues for our crayons
He created a world within rich earth
Where seeds planted bloom into beauty
and
food and become staffs or knives
He knows
We grow
He created us so.
Rivers of mud and streets of dirt
He knows
We'd want to color it all
So
As always
He provided