“I’m sad,” one says, But no one can help,
As all the people attest.
My place mislays its space, It’s temporary tight,
As all the walls grow closer.
“What is it?” Two say, to understand their plight,
As every breath gets heavier.
“Wake, Wake, Wake, Friends,”
As every thought, unhealthier.
Together, we will triumph, The voice of three is thundering,
And all the people onlook
The spectacle of resistance, To song and dance the suffering,
And all people attest.
to mark the edge of spring
to tilt strawmen 'gainst their will
late April wind shuffles new leaves like a deck of cards
a simple trick
nature in its gliding
the willow rustling
pushed by the huff and puff of big bad wolf intention
a wind that incites the season's freshness
rich romp of swaying
aspirations warring
their swooshing blow of heaving like a magistrate robed
wispy clouds wafted away to find other kin
as whispers fill night air, thick and thin
to hide themselves in willful skies
the wind at one's back, a spritely elevation
when worry mislays direction
when whistles overwash resistance
when the wind is weightless like devout contentment
you'll hear its chords of song
Poem composed April 24, 2023
Revised May 20, 2023
A bright star shimmers aloft,
amid the flimsy stars soft;
The Star grins bright,
even in the twilight;
Fellow stars envy,
make the star shies.
A nimbus cloud braces
mysterious moisture, embraces,
the star glittering bright;
Bright star loses all the light,
mislays its power, can't shine,
Now the fellow stars malign.
Yearning for the bright sky
the poor star desperately cries
Will the nimbus cloud budge?
Will primeval brightness nudge?