The SycamoreThe Sycamore3 months ago in Personal More Like This
The sycamore was young and strong until
that car crashed right against its trunk; a piece
was split. It held together by sheer will
and still the green leaves grew with spring's new lease.
The apple tree was young and lithe until
that lightening storm, the one that shocked its trunk.
For several years we thought it dead. To kill
a tree takes more than that – the tree has spunk.
The sycamore was scathed a second time.
Why stand for that, I wonder. Wait! A tree
can no more move than you or I. Refine
the meaning of success and see the we
of sycamore and apple tree who stand
together, lifelong friends, in changing land.
Image by: :iconpracze:
Sonnet by: :iconcolornote:
You speak like MondrianYou speak like Mondrian1 year ago in Personal More Like This
You speak like Mondrian and whistle just
Like Pablo did before Picassos went
Right through the dealer's roof. Was money must
Or maybe when you picked up this new bent?
Monet and Rothko, Klimt, Van Gogh, and Munch,
Cezanne and Pollock, Warhol, Rubens, Johns,
De Kooning, Titian, Hobleinah, a hunch
Pierre-Auguste Renoir. And now it dawns.
Just like the patients Mr. Eakins drew,
Someone must suffer, maybe die, for art.
It's not a happy pastime for the few
Who make it big. Forget the money part.
We'll hang them soon down at the coffee shop.
And neither mind nor ears will need a lop.
Art by :iconRichardLeach:
Sonnet by :iconcolornote:
Eleven does not lastEleven doesn't last. Why just todayEleven does not last2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I said, how can it be two-thousand twelve
Is just a month plus several days away.
Perhaps time speeds because we never delve
Below the surface of these days. To pace
My life, I used to live in future mode
Just like a dancer staring into space
Beyond the stage to find a place, a node,
A hook, and rest the eye on every spin
At that same place. The clever dancer spares
Her head the dizziness, and though her win
Is much applause and bows and smiling stares
She never saw but half of what we did:
The stage, the set, the princeto her, all hid.
Try AgainDrummed upTry Again3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Happy Birthday SonnetHappy Birthday to Richard Leach - August 7 :iconrichardleach:Happy Birthday Sonnet5 months ago in Personal More Like This
The sixty kisses, did they cover all
the tears? The sixty tears, did they dry up
when sixty smiles turned up their corners, fall
replacing summer in the draining cup
of life? The sixty memories of times
too special or too painful to forget,
did they make up for drudgery and mimes
of things you never really felt? You let
the kisses count for more than tears, the smiles
for more than pain. You calculated life
in metrics lacking dollar signs or miles,
no resume of boasts, but just this riff:
That sixty kisses cover all the tears
And all that's been is worth the sixty years.
Image by: ~f4wn4y
Words by: :iconcolornote:
You never chose the middle pathYou never chose the middle path, the placeYou never chose the middle path7 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
of careful, safe and unremarkable,
the sky at 10 am, the camp at base,
the decaf paper cup unbreakable.
You had to go with high and low and real,
with rich and fast and things more notable:
the sky at midnight, Himalayan-feel,
the oxygen and you, unstoppable.
But then your weight became too much for skies.
Your melamine became a china cup.
And those who cried moved on to lesser highs.
They look ahead, or down, but never up.
You never chose the middle path, you raced.
I’m looking up, and pray that speed is graced.