Red and orange and yellow leaves
Carpeted the lot where my car was parked.
I crunched over them and inhaled the autumn air;
It was smoky cool and earthy fresh.
I peered down at the leaves – those abundantly scattered,
Dried up, crinkled relics of life,
And played with the idea of grabbing one.
I haven’t cared about a leaf since I was ten.
I drifted into the car seat, started the engine,
And noticed a single leaf held firmly by the windshield wiper.
It was curled and wrinkled, yet regal and robust,
And orange like the late evening October sky.
As I drove off, the leaf shivered in the cool wind
And I, uncharacteristically, rolled my window down.
Category: Best
Lost Dog
I’ve always dreamed of
finding a dog that’s lost.
I could be a hero for a day –
and I would do it at no cost.
I’d make a four-legged friend.
The kids would laugh and play.
I’d bow and wave goodbye to all,
and be on my jolly way.
But lost dogs are elusive –
more so if you stay in.
They certainly aren’t ever there
when I take the trash out to the bin.
I just checked the window,
but still, none are around.
I guess I won’t be finding dogs
that are not lost, but found.
Maybe next time I go outside,
I’ll just look for whatever’s there,
because perfect opportunities
are just too stinking rare.
Meanings
A snake had bit me
in my dream;
I grabbed it by the head.
Venom was in me,
it would seem,
so I whipped and beat it dead.
I looked for people
or a cure,
but I could find no aid,
and as I trudged on,
with pain so pure,
I forgot to be afraid.
I stopped to rest
beneath a tree
some time about midday,
and when I started
thinking free,
I knew that I would be okay.
What does it mean –
this dream I had?
I don’t think that there’s an answer.
You could examine
any tale and add
the legwork of a dancer.
I encounter things,
then make a choice
on how onward I shall go
and give little thought,
or little voice,
to meanings that I don’t bestow.
Your Art
like a jolly laughter
between fast friends
I’m in the air
I’ve lost track
of starts and ends
I’m everywhere
your art is denser
than any woe
I’m not alone
I’ll take my time
before I go
I’m with my own
A Timely Story
I’d had some good times
some victories
but they’d been lost
beneath the seas
I couldn’t remember
setting sail
nor recall
why I departed
I was just a sunken,
sodden fool
who couldn’t finish
what I started.
On a seabed,
I fell asleep
and breathed the water
way down deep
I saw monsters,
ill of eye
and saw myself
in mirrored glow
I knew I was
a dead myth then
and that I had
to let it go.
I swam up and up
and out the sea
and relished in
that victory
I flew above
the rolling waves
that sparkled from
a full moon’s light
and told myself
a timely story
that would only
last one night.
Strides
I run from the setting sun
and hide in the cerebral night.
It will try again tomorrow
to catch me in the light.
Until then, though, I’m fine,
and I’ll pretend I have no foe.
The darkness is a haven,
lighted by familiar glow.
When the morning comes
and I’m chased by beams of terror,
I’ll look upon my long shadow
and ponder my strides of error.
Becomes a Go
When I hear this part
of this wondrous song,
I feel a love so clear.
I regain my heart
and bounce headlong
into a joyous cheer.
I’d forgotten this –
a soothing sound
that transcends woe.
Right here is bliss,
I do propound;
What’s gone becomes a go.
Bell of Night
I heard a bell ring in the night;
It came from deep below.
I’m sure it’s source was from a dream
that had for me something to show.
I’ve been awake and slept again
a few times since this has passed,
and I am dismayed about the fact
that these things go by so fast.
I write two lines and fall asleep,
while the clouds blow overhead.
Tomorrow I will wake up and take
the bell of night beyond my bed.
Sour
Not happy with today,
nor excited by the next,
I know I should be positive,
but I’m already vexed.
It’s not a massive deal,
and I know I’ll be just fine,
but I hate having sold my day
for a price not worth my time.
And tomorrow, too,
will likely be the same,
unless I taste the moments
that in life are always game.
I only ever write a thing
to increase my rising power,
so I’ll do what I must do,
and spit out this mood that’s sour.
Lost
Before I was ever lost in thought,
I was lost in bliss.
I ran through the summer air
with lightning bugs, like this.
I was glad to roam the earth
without a care to call my own.
My troubles were the simple kind,
in a safety zone.
And after many years
of roaming with a heavy mind,
I find myself lost again
with only bliss to find.