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About This Author
 Writing poetry allows me to exercise my imagination and share it with others. I strive to write for the benefit of the reader using carnival fun mirror images of my life's experiences.
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 | Most Recent Poetry  (E)Poetry most recently written. #2035077 by Vanishing Vapor   |
A Retournello Poem Today's my first, Talking to myself day, To hear what I wanted to say, Me unrehearsed. First I'll play coy, Tease another stanza, Step toward an extravaganza, A righteous ploy. Life is never, The flavor of one spice, But a blend to fully entice, Life forever. |
 Alone in February's icy realm, Witness the stark pre-morning freeze, A Bird sleeps in silence, dreaming of springtime, Asleep in defiance of a wintery world. A lazy sun crests the hazy horizon, Winter disguises the fruit of the earth, An elderly woman sows seeds from a bucket, A lady with love for the suffering birds. One lonely bird feasts, then others join in, The sun in the east brightens the sky, Sing praises to Heaven for the love of a woman, Sing praises to Heaven for the least one of us. 12 Lines |
The hardiest mosses are trampled, Tread, but fail to die, Crammed in cracks of cold pavement, Trees filter the dim lit sky. Soles of a million footsteps, Moss cushions from dangerous stones Mats of enduring flowerets, Blessings that baby the bones. |
 Something tells her it's time to fly, Search for a dry crevice to hide, She knows this as surely, As a Ladybug can know, It's safe and warm to be inside. Under a loosened plank of wood, Anywhere cozy and snug is good, Her only wish is to stay alive, To find any cranny to survive, Winter coming to the hood. She hears well the whispered wind, The messages nature will send, If only we could see the coming change, So many of our plans we'd rearrange, To know the joy of winter's end. 15 Lines |
Sometimes, A little static makes some sense, Turns one's life into a mind worm, That eats away one's matter and soul. Sometimes, A brain's synapses can fire intensely, And when they do--most freak out! And beg God for an answer, That will liberate truth from lies, Willingly told to others lost, And looking down as if homeless, To see the object of our destruction, The responsibility for our death. Sometimes, Waterfalls reflect crystal fire, Like turning one's sorrow into laughter, Noticed only after we grow old. |
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