The wait I must withstand-
I have a sickly smile and poison in my hand.
I stand strong in the middle of this emergency.
That started weeks ago with my fear spinning urgently.
I feel a happy dizziness.
As I am stricken with voices and hisses.
As the doctors mill around.
I can feel these twitches that confound.
Mumbling and screaming.
The colors of this room are beaming.
I have stumbled-
As I roam the room, the ceiling tumbles-
I may never ride in a car again-
I guess in some way I have sinned.
Collect your fragments- you will soon forget!
Hand over your dreams- it is a part of treatment.
One day you may leave here-
And we will leave you with memories of tears.
From this trauma, you will emerge.
And the liveliness you felt, will never again surge.
Gargoyles loom above the streets all around
On every block of this city people mill around
The cafe of the day, classy stripes on the cups
And food so different from those all around
Lost for an age, in the grandest of libraries
They escorted me out for lurking around
I took a dismal bus ride all the way across town
Lost in the view of tree-covered hills all around
Here they sow trash and reap skyscrapers
Not a star in the sky, bright lights all around
At night I rush into my lover’s arms and delight
Arms of hope sustain days, of moping around
The river flows by carrying boats up and down
I, a stranger, watch everyone hurry around
The Mill wheel wouldn't turn until the Spring.
When winter’s ice stops up the water’s flow,
as small town folk expect, the Mill shuts down.
The Mill shuts down, yet people mill around.
Some weekend nights we'd see the miller’s son
and his young cronies heading down that road.
It happened quite often and we guessed why;
but knowing wouldn't throttle tittle-tat.
Whispers ran through the town from door to door
and farther still they traveled phone to phone.
From where we talked, such weekend visits spoke
of poker, gambling, maybe beer and girls.
Such gossip served to freeze up logic’s course.
Such gossip thawed the warmer days of March;
electric poles appear around the site.
Ice melts, revealing secrets - wheel creaks.
The secret is… they’ve modernized the mill
surprising us all who had run our tongues.
Its mighty wheel will creak now all year round,
all year round, just like the gossip mill.
The place ,his haunt, he has been there countless times, this is the place where " everyone knows your name" CHEERS and so he mingles, most persons here are what we call regulars, jokes abound, the vibe here is charged with electricity. However, somehow ,he is detached and if you look deep, deep into his eyes you see his soul is wandering; it has been for a long time. he continues to mill around, continues the dance of the charade but even with everyone there he feels alone.not strange ,he’s felt this feeling from birth. he’s always felt like being on the outside looking in, that out of body experience, many speak of, and not having anyone to ignite some form of passion into him, to let him feel something, to give back, the loneliness keeps dragging him into murkier, downward spiral. Even his siblings , those by blood, those ex school mates,are nothing but strangers ,he has known these folks for an eternum and his customers they just like what he brings to the party, So he’ll continue to smile, to dance to attempt to fit in ,but truth be told,he’s running on empty because loneliness captured his soul.
When life overwhelms, noise is loud,
Instinctively I retreat, away from the crowd:
Standing solitary, though crowds mill around,
I seek inner peace until serenity is found.
When walking through a forested glade,
In search of repose, in the muted shade,
I’ll quietly meditate as I saunter through
To think on the years, spent with you.
With my Spirit buoyed, by songs of birds,
I’ve seldom a need for spoken words.
This quiet oasis, allows the world to pass by;
Refreshes my Soul and answers the ‘why?’
Watched waters of a slow moving stream
Spur reverie, memory or favourite dream:
Winds that die slowly when the evening falls,
Bring pleasant moments as Nature’s calls.
The crashing surf, and its air borne spume:
Lazy dust motes floating across a sunlit room:
A butterfly flitting from flower to flower,
More tender moments that pass the hour.
So whether at work or indulging in play,
I try to make the most of my every day.
Be the day dull or the sun brightly shine,
Such time is well spent, for peace is mine.
Rhymer November 16th, 2016.
I hold dear, this world ,eager with its changing seasons,
its sunrises, reliable as a conveyor belt.
I cherish its fields made pretty with
cornflowers, bluer than sky-colored starfish.
I adore its storm-tossed seas that mill around lonely lighthouses
its sacred forests with redwoods as tall as time passing.
I admire the grasping grapevines,
the dainty hummingbirds quicker than a frog’s tongue.
I take pleasure in flowing rivers with banks of polished stone
Survive and endure Dear Earth long after we are gone.
He had a beautiful smile
I sat and observed it awhile
His eyes were blue
My heart just knew
He was interested in some blonde
they took walks after school to the pond
I wished to be the girl he adored
But with me I thought he'd grow bored
I said 'screw it' one day and just asked him out.
He gazed at me with hands he fumbeled about..
"Sure." He replied as I grew wide eyed.
From that day forth my confidence soared, I now had something to look toward.
I learned that to ask and be rejected may hurt
But to mill around and wonder is worse
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