A quiet stillness in the air
dawn of the longest summer day
it seems the night was far too short
cool dew will soon waft away

Like me, this day is slow to start
dread of too many hours heat
faced with far too little sleep
of listening to my own heart beat

The furnace clears the eastern trees
a stir of breeze teases tall grass
signaling full start of day
and time for lethargy to pass

theocracy in clouds
the threads of turmoil mumble mongst' mongrel crowds
and happy clown feasts
the banquet is bare

the bulb shows me light
and I pay heed to its piper note
reading paper punchlines
and interweb propaganda

ride along soothed by the sun
smoothed with the wind
rub elbows with my kin

and wonder
if the end comes
not with a bang
but the whimper

Birth and life
are like the two faces of a coin
one obverse ...
and
the only thing that joins the two is ...
a very thin silken thread,
we call life ...and that's where you ...and
I come in
we live a lonesome one,
some come while many go,...
few also praise,
so many condemn
but that's all quite true….
now tell me friend
is life not a part of birth and death too?
anything born is the beginning of a sojourn
of the ultimate one,
staring at the distance,
:death:

KEY TO HEAVEN

There are many heavens,
you hold the key to one of mine,
do not lose it on your journey
through the brine.

you are my stone,
I kick you ahead to plumb the way,
the way to places we don't know of
far ahead,

the way on which we burnish
our sharp edges,
straighten bends,
enrich our lives before it ends.

Ann 5th March 2012.

The Longest Day by RW

just imagine you're God
but no PA, no staff, no one
just wonder
that you are alone
and
the world calls you …
GOD

and you have no PA no staff
no one to see how you fart,
no one to give a helping hand and tell you,
you are unstable
when your off to land
and then shake your hand
and say here I am God
come bow to me,
I have made a work of creativity
you may call out to me
and the world that I have carved,
from nowhere,
is the magician’s flair..

Sitting sequestered in his chair
cheap pen poised to write a line
which he'll pluck from the thin air;
unschooled, unlearned how can he dare
to try to write a poem that's fine?

At once his pen drops to lined page.
A thought enters his empty head
a thought of beauty (he shuns the rage)
written with no regard for its gauge
using only how it sounds instead.

As the summer takes its will,
and foliage breaks its flush,

our dust edges come alive
thinning from there summer bloom
as black eyes seek the sun,

while cunning beaks take free feeds,
crown’s of thorns are no deterrent
as eagerly they seek the fruit,

Its now with bucket Grannies come,
charged with equal season life
to fill their Pails,

while prying eyes await ,
to take what’s left behind,

but a grandchild wont miss any strays,
as nectar bleed on a stick face

soap and towels at home await.

Thoughts are collasal higher then skyscrappers more like sky chasers

If ever evolved into vapor one thought could consume a society and make front page of a paper

WHILE DOUBTS ARE MINISCUE I SHOOT THEM IN THE POCKET LIKE POOL

DOUBT IS LIKE THAT ONE KID WHO NEVER LEAVES THE SIDE OF THE POOL

My thoughts have after thoughts pictures and images that take after art

I ought to put my thoughts on stage I apologize for the sarcasm

GLUE ME
Somebody, get the glue
before I split in two.
what’s that crack
in my back, I hear.
Christ, I’m stiffer than dry wood !
Splinters are falling everywhere.
Protect my heart.
Save my soul.
Don’t let me lose my hair !

Glue me,