A dreary day
dark, cold, pale gray.
Sunday afternoon
followed snow fall from the midnight moon,
only a single star faded in and out
then was lost to the rise of morning's route.
Paths of frozen ice and snow
lay along the grass unmowed
and leaves yellowed and brown
float lightly to the ground,
with no sun only gilded light
morning slipped away in flight.
Quiet, still and hushed
the master painter does not brush
all the colors lost to spring
nor allow the birds on the wing
to hover high and low
amidst the winter snows.
There, in vacant shadows stand
seasonal changes harsh and bland
upon this earthen face
where plant and flower are erased
tomorrow the sun will surely rise
despite these wintry ties.
Memories of the old dance hall
are sealed in the mind of a middle-aged
bopper who remembers the magic
of Saturday night many years ago when her
date appeared before the door whistling the
latest tune while combing his slick hair looking
handsome in his plaid jacket and freshly
polished white bucks.
The rag-top Chevy had a Saturday
night shine with its loud music playing
from its AM radio while both sat close together
with his arm around her pony-tailed shoulders,
they laughed in love as he peeled rubber at
the traffic light rushing to meet the gang at
Wally's Drive-in for burgers and shakes,
and then on their way to a night of be-bop-a-loopa.
Boarded windows, faded paint, a fallen sign and
unmowed grass are yesterday's memories of a time
when going steady, wearing letter sweaters and
exchanging rings were favorite things to do,
she stops and stares at the old dance hall recapturing
the pulse of Saturday night which gives blueberry
feelings to her well-seasoned heart.
(Topic: Traveling back in time)
The Flower was violet.
There was once a violet flower.
She grew along a high placed ledge of rock faced stone.
All the other flowers disappeared in the snow.
She alone survived and thrived among the rocky thorns.
A man fell all alone he died in battle.
Wounded for his men, crying out the namme of his flower.
He lays beneathe the snow under unmowed grass.
An ^A^ngel of mye GOD came bye ,
HE sighed a pretty song, as he placed the violet there.
In Life is so in Death may be an indian belief.
All I can rally knoe is that I love her so.
And when the end of time has come,
and GOD gives out rewards,
the two of them will come alive,to never ever sleep.
She will wash his hands and kiss them then.
And tell him she loves him so.
INside the INN of Heaven,they have a place to dwell.
Where ^A^ngels tell of flowers
growing roots on old gravestones.
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