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Crystal Ray Poem
Endless mountains now
reach for the sky.
Tis the season for it
so torrential downpours begin.
Rushing creeks form
and the deepest gorges overflow.
Waterfalls agitate the murky depths
and raise up whitest foam.
A desolate land
destroyed by breakfast.
Copyright © Crystal Ray | Year Posted 2016
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Crystal Ray Poem
Tired lids to buckets of endless hours
open cracks and creaks
and cold saps their strength.
Exhaustion gives
and so do lids
for I was not born a god.
As end to time,
results evade.
Exasperation grasps unthinking.
Sudden shaking, endless quaking;
Axes work upon my trunk and limbs
as children join my garden of dreams.
Growling, grasping and blind,
reaching for those brave souls
-though errant spawn evade.
Yet, a fallen titan,
Cronus, I shall rise again;
a new day has dawned.
Pulleys creak and
levers groan, "Overwork!" they cry,
but work they do as I wake.
One thought I have, a simple dream:
I truly wish that someday
-past dawn
-past six o' clock
-maybe even eight
the kids might deeply, sweetly sleep.
Copyright © Crystal Ray | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Crystal Ray Poem
Darkness falls in the heart of man
and silver wisps of sultry dream
take flight.
Wolves prowl the streets of
the Quarter and bay
golden notes into the night.
Those down-and-out play
their notes again while the
Boogie Men swing just right
while I walk these streets
wet with all their tears as a
ghost stands just out of sight-
Those 1920 olden days,
the raise the roof party craze
and that real boogie with old jazzy bite.
Copyright © Crystal Ray | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Crystal Ray Poem
Naked trunks stand sentinel
In the dead of silence where I was born.
Softly, snow drifts in the early hour,
My First Hour,
Blinding me to the truth of who I could be.
Freezing, bare, I scurry from tree to tree,
Clinging.
Grasping at the Winter wind for clues as to what I’m so afraid of.
Crackling and plopping
urges me on and quicker and quicker I run.
The snow melts and the trees clothe themselves
Various shades and hues of fire and embers assault me.
Wings flutter and the Owl cries my question to all in this;
My Second Hour,
Searching endlessly through the lies of who I might be.
Still chilled and bare, I hurry from tree to tree,
Still clinging.
Searching in the Fall air for answers as to why I’m so afraid.
The flutter of wings and leaves
Urges me on so faster and faster I race.
Trees thin and disappear where corn has grown and burned
Ghosts and remnants of healthier times stand weathered and bent.
Husks that still stand tall reach alone for the sky in this,
My Third Hour,
Beseeching the creator for the truth of who I will be.
Warmed by my exertions, I jog through the field,
No longer clinging,
Hunting in the Summer breeze for reasons as to how I could have been so afraid.
Warmth and exhaustion
Slows me down so slower and slower I walk.
Corn is gone and the gently rolling land is new and fresh
The grass is green and high above my head where I lay to rest.
With a sweet blade between my teeth I enjoy this,
My Midnight Hour,
Because my travels have taught me who I AM.
Arms stretched above me,
Content in this Spring meadow-land that I am not afraid.
Soft grass and singing crickets
Lull me deeper and deeper to sleep.
Copyright © Crystal Ray | Year Posted 2016
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