Time spent. More to spend.
Time is lend't until the end.
Broad smiles. Laughter too.
Lifelong miles for me and yoo.
Birds sing. Flowers bloom.
Indigo skies and midnight moon.
Dogs bark. Babies coo.
Time's 'lest dark for me and yoo.
Monday, November 29, 2010
monday's eve
Shadows cast long in twilight red,
crackling leaves of sycamore.
November's nearly put to bed,
as the dark cloud flocks of mileormore.
Mondays frost will soon be here.
We must abide the grindstone's call.
The lender's grasp is always near,
for those who have to have it all.
crackling leaves of sycamore.
November's nearly put to bed,
as the dark cloud flocks of mileormore.
Mondays frost will soon be here.
We must abide the grindstone's call.
The lender's grasp is always near,
for those who have to have it all.
Monday, November 8, 2010
downwind
Low silver waves and dark blue ripples.
Summer's swan song.
If this day with these people was a guitar sonata, even the finger rubs between notes would bear light and meaning.
Tranquility rests just downwind from bliss, wears a big straw hat and speaks with a drawl.
We drift in lifes slipstream like leaves on warm water.
And when we regretfully depart, the harvest moon bids us a fond farewell.
Summer's swan song.
If this day with these people was a guitar sonata, even the finger rubs between notes would bear light and meaning.
Tranquility rests just downwind from bliss, wears a big straw hat and speaks with a drawl.
We drift in lifes slipstream like leaves on warm water.
And when we regretfully depart, the harvest moon bids us a fond farewell.
lullaby
They had run out of things to say. So they sat quietly at their table on the end of the porch waiting for the check. A bird entered the large holly beside them and shuffled about in the limbs looking for a place to bed down. It was the mockingbird he'd mentioned earlier. They listened quietly as the bird began it's lullaby. Seemingly singing for them, and them alone.
her
I gazed at her in her white sundress so prim and dainty. Then I recalled watching her roast a market clerk in effigy over an eye of the kitchen stove while chanting something sinister. When I'm with her I feel like I'm on a southbound bullet train to gawd knows where. "What're you looking at darling?" She asked. I grinned and growled "pure evil." She smiled sweetly, batting her lashes. "Oh baby you know you love it."
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