The Crows Come at Sunset

THE CROWS COME AT SUNSET

From all corners of the sky

Black silhouettes winging together as a noisy flock

On their way to their secret destination

Which I long to know

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50th Anniversary

Photo by the author

It was post war

I mean the second World War

My white generation made its appearance

With the “Leave it to Beaver” show & Betty Crocker

We were entertained by black & white TV

Glued to the Ed Sullivan Show on Sunday evenings

While eating red jello for dessert

Ecliptica

Photo by K. Russell

The sun & the moon

met each other in the freshness of an August morning

and as they embraced, the sun smiled brightly

Nectar

 

Photo by Pixabay

 

I awoke in the middle of a flower

To a world of pink petals

And saffron yellow,

We Have a Choice

WE HAVE A CHOICE

Shut off the news

and choose beauty

Let a song well up in your throat

and fill the air

’63 VW

I have the heart & soul

of a ’63 VW Bug

In my youth

A steady warrior of the road

But now

A purring antiquity

That prefers the slow lane

Fear

The opposite of courage

The backside of love & creativity

Its tendrils approach from behind

Silently wrapping themselves around your neck

Until you are paralyzed

Suffocating in its sticky web

Dancing Alone

My muse lost me

Or did I lose her?

I turn around and she is gone

Write Me

 

photo by pixabay

The poem tugged on my apron strings

Begging for attention

When I ignored it

It crept into the kitchen of my mind

Burrow

If I had a burrow

I would crawl into it

Make a bed of soft moss

Distraction

I was on my way to my studio

When dust bunnies began biting my ankles

Mold in the bathroom started to whine

Sensitive

You are too sensitive

My mother says to my 10 year-old-self

I look at her quizzically, confused.

Return

When I  opened the door

It was like revisiting a book I had set aside

Trying to remember the plot and the main character,

Myself, and my part in the story

Departure

It all started with an idea 

manifesting

to a penciled entry on my calendar

Later changing to ink.

As the date drew closer and closer

Loose ends started appearing everywhere

Coming out of crevices

I didn’t know existed.

First Migration

 FIRST MIGRATION

A sliver of a moon

Shimmered off my left shoulder

As we pumped our wings

Rhythmically, silently

Through the darkness of the frigid night.

ON THE WAY

“Are we almost there yet?”

I whined to my parents as we motored down seemingly endless highways

punctuated with Burma-Shave signs,

Jumbo Orange stands and other odd roadside attractions.

We traveled to the pace of a ’56 Chevy Station wagon

two-toned Red & White