Fore the Mockingbird’s Yawn

Mockingbird'sYawn

It was early in the morn
Fore the blush touched the willow
Fore the mockingbird’s yawn
Turned to song
Voices from the ceiling
Speaking words of introspection
Wandering in my mind
Tween right and wrong

In the hues of the dawn
In the chatter of the sparrow
When light sifted softly
Cross sculptured stones
Voices neath the floor
Speaking words of resurrection
Never speaking of the door
That hides the bones

It was early in the morn
Fore the blush touched the silence
Though light out of darkness
Dimmed the flame
Voices from the willow
Speaking words of intellection
Till the ravens came
Calling my name

Michael33

The Poet’s Last Plea

My beautiful picture

The Poet’s Last Plea
    (Distant Shores)

They are nothing but words
Trapped on the parchment
Where time only breeds
Fractured ink
Never to find
Their pathway to freedom
To flow to the pond
Where we drink

While poets are lost in the rain
In the dawn
In the hues of the petals of the rose
Capturing verses of the light
And the shadows
In the dreams
Of the lyrics we chose

They are nothing but words
Placed in the bottle
Set free to wander
The sea
To find distant shores
To be known by the stranger
To share the lost poet’s
Last plea

Michael33

Through Wisdom’s Eyes

Face night affect 1

Through Wisdom’s Eyes

It’s not that I’ve stopped writing
Though my life seems to have stopped inside the rhyme
Caught between reality and whispers from the light
Trapped inside the hourglass of time

I’m blinded by the empty page
Though my thoughts could always paint the palette blue
But pink and yellow flowers always linger in my eyes
Like hues of dawn’s first blush through morning dew

It’s not that I am caught inside the verse
Though second sight cannot change morrow’s fate
Knowing in the light that as a child I still could fly
I’ve seen the waiting wings yon garden’s gate

It’s not that I’ve stopped writing
Though the potter’s wheel is useless without clay
Poets on the ceiling whisper rhymes through wisdom’s eyes
While minds of mortal poets fade away

Michael33

 

Don’t worry about my state of mind… I’m still sharp as a tack… well… old… somewhat rusty and a bit warped… but still sharp.  Now… if I can just remember how to post this.

It’s Early… as of Late

It's Early as of late

It’s Early as of Late

It’s early
As of late
This time I couldn’t wait
For that light across the hillside
Where I roam
It’s later
Than you think
And I’m nearly out of ink
But I’m far too many miles
Away from home

In the silent
Speed of sound
I turned the ship around
And headed for her footprints
Long the shore
Neath the shadows
Of the light
Doesn’t matter
What I write
For I’ve far too many bones
Beneath the floor

It’s there tween
Day and night
In the grey tween
Black and white
But the ink will only smear
Beneath the rain
It’s calm
Inside the storm
Where the ocean floor
Is warm
But parchment wouldn’t wrinkle
On the train

It’s early
As of late
Perhaps it’s left to fate
For I can smell the flowers
Where I roam
It’s later
Than you think
And I’m nearly out of ink
And I’m far too many miles
Away from home

Michael33

Copyright © 2019

Where Flowers Always Grow

where flowers always grow

Where Flowers Always Grow
             (A True Story)

I wandered in the backwoods
With the cougar and the crow
Where hobos shared their campfire tales
Where no one else would go

I traveled through the eastern woods
Hopping trains in early dawn
Smoking cigarettes in boxcars
Crossing lines that can’t be drawn

I hitched my way to the northern woods
Finding flowers in their hair
First taste of ‘knowing’ peace and love
While music filled the air

I flew into the northwest woods
On giant silver wings
Sailed into the deep blue sea
In search of silver strings

Drove white lines to the southern woods
In an aimless flight to nowhere
Still longing for what lingered
Deep beneath the seraph’s dare

I wandered through the backwoods
With the cougar and the crow
Where hobos shared their campfire
Where flowers always grow

Michael33

 

In the Clouds

In the Clouds

So what if I am a dreamer
I like my head in the clouds
It’s cool and moist with a soft breeze
With limited vision of the bullshit
Always lingering in wait
When you least expect it

Clear blue skies
Can be most deceptive
You can’t trust the sunshine
It can burn you without a thought
And the moonlight
Oh……………….
The moonlight
Can squeeze your heart so tightly
Fill your mind with thoughts
That linger
Far beyond forever

So perhaps
I should always be a dreamer
Leave my head in the clouds
Where the fog hides what is real
Where the cool moist air
Soothes my skin from the burn
Where bullshit will never find me
Where deception cannot hide
Within the shadows of the sun
Where my vision cannot see
Beyond the journey

I like my head in the clouds
With a soft cool breeze upon my face…
Until the moonlight calls my heart…
Oh……………….
The moonlight –
Fills my mind with thoughts
That linger…
…and so what if I am a dreamer

Michael33

Growing Old

Young and Old Me 2

Growing Old

I guess that I really don’t understand
What happened to the clowns and the marching bands
The rain on my face on a bicycle ride
Believing that dreams never lied

I guess that I’ve always wondered bout time
Where it was wasted and where it all rhymed
I never did listen to ticks or to tocks
While flying my big cardboard box

I guess that I really don’t understand age
Still hiding tween lines of rhymes on the page
I guess I don’t know when it got out of hand
Lost with the clowns
                   And the marching bands

Michael33