poetry, story, writer, writing

Write Me

I write the lines in my face

by the story that I place

in my mind

in my heart

I am art.

Remove a chapter

Add a scene

Put me on parchment

The plot line screams

I am dreams.

My arc goes high

the quill goes low

inky marks

scribbled line

I am fine.

The end is near

Typewriter beats

coffee runs dry

tea leaves tell

I end well.

musician

Winter’s Wind

A thousand black-winged dots above the horizon

Cut through the clouds

On an icicle blowing wind

Forming glass of water, nature’s sculpture

Shall they reach the sun above five more horizons?

Or shall they fall into the winter of the soul ?

Their dark wings collapsing in peace

For respite in the silence minus the whistle of that very same wind

poetry, writer, writing

It Cannot

It cannot take the glow of Spring’s first warm light on my winter skin.

It cannot tilt my heart on the axis it spins.

It cannot lay claim to the adventures of my mind.

It, therefore, will not win.

It will lay bare our faults and our fears.

It has no soul. About nothing it cares.

It will ravage the old and young the same.

It will expose our mistakes and immortal shame.

And when it’s darkness towers over us, and a last stand remains,

Rush boldly we will, shedding its chains.

It cannot, it will not, it should not transpire,

A dimming of our humanity’s fire.

It cannot, it will not, it should not conspire,

For we are glass blown into steal, forged from this same fire.

musician, poetry, writer, writing

Today

I can still feel the sun’s heat on my face,

even when fear wrestles with grace.

I can still see love in another’s eyes,

while facing the darkness of demise.

I can still water a flowering bud,

as my emotions get swept away by the flood.

And I can still believe today will be tomorrow,

when my heart mends from subsuming sorrow.

musician, poetry, story, writer, writing

The Virus

In the quiet of the night

In the hole of the soul

In the alley where it lived

Under the moon covered in clouds

The sadness it did bring,

Pulling the stitches of the world

Infecting the tears of many

While living in the body untold

Through the darkness it spread

Killing wisdom with a stone

But through it all a tiny light did glow

And with it, brought hope

Small and grand gestures brought healing

Like vitamins from the sun

And the virus disappeared

Into the cave from which it did come

For humanity is the strongest medicine of all

musician, poetry, story, writer, writing

Luci

She can turn the world with her smile.

Her heart, a song, coloring your eyes with something better.

She is fiercely kind and kindly direct.

Swiftly tilting her head, she questions the patriarchy.

A poet mathematician. A singer scientist. A musician doctor, healing your tired mind with her laughter.

She is precisely messy, delightfully charged, a force of joy.

A daughter, sister. friend to all.