ich doese in der Sonne
und das Mitleid
hat mit der Begeisterung und dem Kutter

wir sind besorgt
und der Korbe wird nicht auftauen

das Geraeusch is schlaefrig
hoeflich
und auf die Schulter klopft ein Hand
neugierig und wissbegierig

der Erfolg hat keines Talent
nur die Disziplin
und meine Wortgewandtheit ist wagemutig
ehrlich nicht

ich habe den Verstand verlieren
und mein Herz
macht Karriere und besitzt die Lernbereitschaft

vieleicht habe ich vermasselt
misslangte

Evolution considered, truth or dare ?
We are a planet of apes,
Drawn from the primordial ooze.
Quick to abuse.

We bare the burden of proof 
Pre-historic dwellers of earth
Developed and improved upon,
Since birth.

Adam and Eve created to deceive
Desperate for a comfort, 
Clawing for an explanation,
World filled with degradation.
 
We are aliens in a strange universe,
Infinite existence,
Or Armageddon to ensue.
Theory or hypotheses?

A darkened room with a lone spotlight in the center
She lies there, balled up and sobbing
I can here shards of broken glass and water dripping
Under my bare feet the glass stings and slits my lining
I can hear her breathing
Her tears flood the floor
The glass glistens, the drips continue
“Why would you leave me all alone…” she sobs through the words
As I approach the perfect words escape my lips
“I am so sorry, things just happen…”
She looks into my eyes, I connect with hers

she
with her mop bucket
sleeps on a floor
of dirt
a cardboard fridge box
dented cans

a candle
from the church

she mops
keeping demons at bay
mumbles a prayer
she can't understand

and I can't understand any of this

is she strong
surviving so long
or weak
for letting it all come down to

just this

she is an old lady
so I side with the angels
assuming Those Storied Ones
stay ever close
watching over
her

Whispers two…

We don’t have an agenda
more a subtle guile
simply we distract our
Audience (that’s you)
and make it worth
their (that’s them )
while

See they are the unseen
as we are the same
knowing what they know
they want it to remain
we control the press
even the TV taking
gentle strides with
silent suavity

Tiny little fairy, fluttering in the sky,
So beautiful,and full of wonder,
It makes me want to cry.

Her wings are the color of life,
Like a rainbow after the rain,
Or how the sun, colors the drops,
Clinging on the window pane.

The song she sings,with the setting sun,
Is a sweet and peaceful tune,
Telling us the day has faded,
And the moon will be here soon.

She curls up in a rosebud,
There she will make her bed,
The petal will be her blanket,
The bud is where she will lay her head.

position

we hold
and collusion crashs
the debris shinning
and jagged

while death dances

I held what I know
and gave what
was

and the grist
chewed up the edges
and seeped
deep
like a wound
that always cries
when memories
flame

and the blaze
never dies

at the risk of red leaves unfurling
perennial wisdom just outside
my peripheral vision, their lace
reeling against the city potholes
sinking deeper into ich bin ein Clevelander
despair,
i confirm that it is spring
trumpeting its pageantry
as the pages turn,
just before the summer of past
regrets ferrets its pensive conclusion

"if not winter, when?"
they are not words i wrote
i have borrowed their beauty
from sadness the poetess gave them
entwined in my own
subtle twists to tales
an ebb and flow that
makes women sigh and
men raise arms to fight

a past season when
snow gave landscape depth
no horizon

an unclear path
hidden until spring

"THE HORNBEAMS"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 19th May 2011.

The hornbeams turn green
a grey green so slowly
where others they sprout in a rush with a shout
the oaks come out first
if the ash makes the dash for the post
then we're in for a thirst
and a splash