Dream…
dream
of soft caresses
kisses
and hugs
treats
good food
and a soft bed
dream
of running free
of hearing laughter
and your name
called by
someone you love
dream
Photo: Fabian Gieske
Unsplash
Posts tagged ‘poem’
Streetlights…
street lights
not only
brighten the night
they provide
the best seats
in the neighborhood
for those with
wings
Photo: Gantias Vaičiulénas
Pexels
Ferris Wheel…a kind of poem
life’s a lot like a
Ferris Wheel
sometimes
you’re stuck on the top
sometimes
on the bottom
sometimes
you spin too fast
sometimes
too slow
sometimes
it’s exciting
sometimes
you throw up
you just never know
what you’re going to get
once you strap yourself in
Photo: Bian Breeden
Unsplash
Monsters, a poem
this is where the monsters live
in the shadows
in the doorways
in the alleys
in the darkness
they come out at night
because that’s
when they can see us
when they can smell us
when they can count our heartbeats
and taste our fear
night
is when the monsters
come out to play
just a friendly
reminder
Photo: Morica Pham
Unsplash
A lot of us REALLY like snakes…especially when we are in our Medusa mood. Definitely then. Poem
Medusa was quite fond of snakes
She took them everywhere
She wore them ’round Her ankles
She wore the in Her hair
She carried them throughout the day
And slept with them at night
To see Her walking down the street
Was truly quite a sight
Her face was always veiled
One looked turned men to stone
But the loving haunting Goddess
Was never all alone
The moving hissing serpents
Were all that She adored
In truth
When faced with humans
She because extremely bored
The gods made up some stories
About this Goddess who
Gave birth to every one of them
A thing they could not do
Then enter waring Perseus
Who took Her for his foe
He went to cut off Her sweet head
As most of you do know
But Medusa knew the future
The present
Past
As well
and Perseus wasn’t real
As far as She could tell
So She went about Her business
Being wise and strong
Caressing Her beloved snakes
All day
And all night long
Photo: Wilson Victorino
Pexels
This is Bullet…a poem
brave and daring
like a bullet
you shoot
through the air
wings tight at your sides
waiting for the right moment
to open them
and fly
It’s what we are…
we are walking
breathing
libraries
all of our stories
shelved
in something called
memory
our books
cannot be borrowed
or even translated
into every language
now and then
we edit
adding or subtracting pages
or words
that will make our stories
more to our liking
but all of our books
are temporary
we take them with us
when we leave the game
that’s what our books
have in common
they all end
exactly the same way
Photo: Leroy Skalstad
Pexels
Prickles… the hedgehog
someone called me a
hedgehog
the other day
and it made me feel bad
while I do sometimes
live in a hedge
I am not a hog
I always share
and I’m very
nice
humans
should
be more aware
of names they call
others
Photo: Pixabay
Our lives…
our lives
are like photographs
each has a
negative
where the color
is different
where our vision
has a beauty of it’s own
when held to the light
we live in both places
one more than the other
at least that’s what we
believe to be true
but no one really
knows anything
for sure
maybe our choices
put us in one place
or the other
Jr Korpa
Unsplash
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