Red-headed beauty

Red-headed beauty somewhat six degrees
on through life doing what she please
took a chance to sail the seven seas
some time ago in her dreams

Danced with peasants, popes and kings
erasing hearts every time she sings
she had time for all sorts of things
of the moments in her dreams

Dancing now in her purgatory
someday maybe we could hear her story
of her fall from grace and her glory
as she lost all of her dreams

In my sleep but only late at night
I saw the her dance in blue moonlight
only to drift softly out of sight
never again in my dreams

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #63: I Say and You Say…

Fog on the road

 

The path is not always clear

Why is the biggest hurdle in the mind?
that quiet voice that casts shadows of doubt
thriving in the fog of uncertainty
hiding the road we must travel upon

Will the battle rage forever?
as I take up arms against this foe
this manufactured mire of my creation
the lost faith of the beginning

Did I hear that whispered voice?
those words that said, "forge on"
the sunrise crests the top of the hill
promises one day closer home 

Even in rain, the sun may shine

Spring 2021 holds some promise but offers frustration. In other words, a typical year.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry 61: It's Been a Year

New Years Day

New Years Day was yesterday
a day of New Beginnings
but today the mists rolled in
to hide the dreams of our making

The wise man up the street
said I was stupid or insane
the jury is still out
but the judgement only comes at journey's end

For that I'm thankful
else where would I be?
Yes, in that world of lost hope
and abject misery

New Years Day plus one
as today this fog burned off
and we can see the horizon
the dream over the hill is now seen

Today's contribution is a more jumble of cryptic thoughts that reflect the nature of where we are right now: a New Beginning - of dreams, of hope, of unexpected calmness that I cannot explain.

"When you come to a fork in the road, take it." - Attributed to Yogi Berra

We'll see where this road takes us... 

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United, Writers’ Pantry #59: Love and Loss

February's grim side

I understand this winter gloom
the Eversnow that stays
from that December past until Spring

That longing time seems always
over the next hill
but not seen until it comes to its ready

My patience (or lack thereof)
means nothing to the turning of the world
More snow
more grey skies and white hills

I know Spring is near
I hear her
but the Winds of the North
carry her further away

I can only ask for the melt
but she doesn't listen
Spring comes in her own time

This winter has given us more snow than I'd like (with more on the way today.) I can hardly wait for Spring but right now, we've struggled in deep snow drifts up this hill.

Snow on the hill

 

Wee Sprout

Wee Sprout doing well surrounded in a blanket of snow. We look forward to a spring when we can find this young seedling growing again.

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry #58: Is it Spring Yet?

In the Way

It seems the winds
of this universe
could not plot more
to make it worse
while all our plans and dreams
even our enemies' hidden schemes
were blocked on each and every day
because now
Life just got in the way

Not much joy here
days filled with sadness
sprinkled here with
silent madness
here in my self-exile
I know I have to stay a while
so sun may shine again some day
but again
Life just gets in the way

The here and now
opposed to time past
I go forward
so this can't last
we rarely ever get to choose
the life we want - we sometimes lose
when light is dark and clouds are grey
command it
Life get out of the way

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #52: Year’s Beginning

The Murder of Mr Dean

 Maggie Gordon lived on top of the hill
in a house shuttered from the sky
No visitors darkened her door
and only one person knew just why

No lawyer would take her case
of the murder of Mr. Dean
The DA vowed to avenge his friend
who lost his life there on the green

In the land of forgotten memories
and outright stolen lies
The county judge issued a warrant
Maggie had no valid alibi

Witnesses' sworn testimonies
painted a dark forbiding tale
Of a burning love affair
and of passion that grew stale

Then the hardware storekeeper
said he sold Maggie a knife
The same one found at the murder scene
the DA proved she took Dean's life

On that day of sentencing
after Maggie lost her case
She pulled down her silken scarf
and showed her red-bare scar on her face

Some say it was Mr. Dean
who cut her in a rage
Some said it came from a former love
when she tried to turn that page

Forsaken by all that knew her
while years in her prison cell
The true story behind the murder
not a soul she'd ever tell

I've been spending my drive times with Bob Dylan with a sprinkling of Leonard Cohen for much of the summer. I ask of anyone that comments to help me out and offer up a poet or writer to help expand my universe. I trust my regular readers and I thank you in advance for the help (I could use some lately.)

Linked at Poets and Storytellers United, Writers' Pantry #43: Sunday Morning Cereal

A last request

Standing on the gallows
under distant skies of grey
soon I knock on Heaven's door
but you can now walk away

Though my neck is in the noose
on this my judgement day
I look to your passing Grace
please go on and walk away

I pause in this short silence
as you take the time to pray
listen to my last request
forget me and walk away

As I near this my end
I view life in mind's display
your only choice to take here
is to turn and walk away

There is only one ending
for the last act of this play
heed my words before I go
I beg you to walk a---

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United, Weekly Scribblings #40: Walking Away