Universe Picnic

Bring me the sunset in a cup.
Give me the moon in a bowl.
I'll bring a plate full of stars and
a basket of perfectly puffed clouds.
We can lay down a blanket in softest blue of sky and
we'll have a beautiful universe picnic.


The first line "Bring me the sunset in a cup." is from Emily Dickinson's poem Bring Me The Sunset in a Cup.

Older Dust

She sits in solid gratitude from the past which is now all glued up.
The cobwebs in the ceiling corners and dust pushed aside down the hall
show this old tired state.
She sits like a weary hoarder, among tokens of her past.
She may share the objects and memories but,
yes, we all see.
She is still lonely.

Amazing Opposites

There is a bird and a tiger.
They only stare at me.
The tiger's bright yellow eyes send me the clear message to watch out
but the bird watches in fear that I may hurt him.
I am only afraid for the bird though.
The tiger stays focused on me, not seeing the bird, but when he does,
it will be an end for sure.
The bird raises it's wings and launches into flight,
landing on the tiger's back.
I watch as the bird lays it's head on the tiger's and I hear the tiger pur.
I am so frozen now at the sight before me, of this yin and yang.
This fire and ice molded together into something new and untouchable
like hot ice , only a light touch will burn you.
They are like the setting sun  behind the deeply shaded mountains,
bright orange from sun to tiger and dark blue-gray from mountains to bird.
The tiger's tail twitches back and forth but he slowly begins to back away under a soft growl.
The soon disappear into the tall grass,
leaving me wondering what I have just seen.

The Realization

I watch my feet sink into the mud below it creates a cloud on my toes.
I watch the water's rippling surface of my reflection before picking a foot up and pushing my leg forward.
I must go on.
I do not know what is ahead but I feel drawn as if it is whispering in my ear.
My urge to move grows stronger and I try to walk faster.
I feel as if I am being pushed back,
as if the more I try the harder it gets.
I flinch in a quick jump as I believe to see a shark.
A better look and I find it is only trash.
A sudden realization hits me and I stare at the scene around me.
Cans,
bags,
wrappers, and
scraps of old metal
are floating across the wide river.
Suddenly every way I turn is filled with trash.
I try to hurry back on the path in which I started but like before I am pushed back.
The mud is getting deeper and softer so it collapses beneath my feet.
I cry for help but my face is already sinking into the river and it comes out as only a scarce gurgle.
I am thrashing my arms to keep myself afloat but it is no use.
Water rushes into my mouth, nose, and ears.
Garbage covers my face.
The last thing I see before going under is a small patch of blue sky.
It's surrounded by darkness but still there, even a last shred of hopeless unbelievable hope.
But now I have been flooded and must lay on my bed of garbage.
Maybe that's just where I belong.

Rotten Flowers

I smell the rotting flowers which lay strewn in a
floral mess on the degrading cement.
I know she's there trying not to cry,
appearing as a corpse on the outside.
A death toll can ring but everyone is asleep,
when will they wake?
This whole street is a mess,
covered in unworthy shadow and
no way to see right.

The Never Ending Dance

I spin and twirl and dance in the spotlight,
ignoring the surrounding dark stage.
I await a sound from the audience, maybe just one small sound.
It reminds me that I'm not alone but 'i hear nothing so I keep going,
stifling back yawns.
The spotlight which follows me is growing dusty and dim,
but I am a puppet on a string which must continue quietly.
My breath comes out in large puffs and my legs feel like jelly.
I still have to continue on waiting for what seems like nothing.
I slow with no hope of keeping up.
My strings have broken but have left me tired and weak.
So now all I can do is face forward on the stage,
stuck and ready for my last bow.

Deep

A dull sharp pain can be a deeply held thought.
Soon covered in darkness and would there be red?
It would be a stain.
A bright red smudge on the perfect canvas.
This canvas which was once so clean and innocent.
It now looks "plagued".
But now what if the smudge stain grows,
to a red murky river.
Blood red mixed with saltwater running over scabby rocks.

Believe

A small puff like an over hydronated cloud popping before it's first rain.
A deranged monkey sits, but is fading away.
Catch it quickly.
Too late, it's gone.
The lady is still singing but her melody is too loud to get her attention,
her voice echos on,
invading all thoughts.
What do I hear, is it singing or just buzzing,
a high pitched ringing which I cannot stop.
A loud presence with no turning back,
no fading like the monkey.
Thoughtful isolated thoughts.

The fire

I pull the chair to the fireplace to dine with the ravishing flame.
Words spilling from my mouth are responded to with cloudy smoke.
I sit upon my chair, the fire on its wood.
So we can both stay here until it's last dying "words".

Gone

The bitter bite of a lie set in silence.
The cold scream of a harsh word's cut.
The thought of a rainbow in a sunny sky has fallen to the bottom of a murky pond.
Every second is a rythem
every breath a breaking note.
The promise of yesterday is broken and unheld.
No more rythem,
no more notes,
only simple silence.