In twenty years, I'll be stark elderly
So far gone, with body shot, mind scratchy
Life reduced to endless replays, rewinds,
Stories everyone's heard a millions times.
Howling wind, calls out sad and longing,
sighing solemnly through the trees.
Not threatening, but showing off its gusts,
warning of gale building up, with storm looming.
To deceive lay a scent so appealing
That it tricks the hounds to stray off target
Leaving the hare saved by hair's breath deflection
I light a candle for I love its soft light
But it flickers despite no breeze in night
I like the flicker, but I want it to be happy
To be steady, contented, a friend true and sure.
I awaken well before dawn has thought of yawns
It is quiet then, and quite eerie in a way.
The peace deadens distractions, death-hour mourns.
The mind awakens refreshed, sparked by noir cafe.
of feet up there
on high road less traveled
It is lonesome, but worth the hike.
Mister Joe, poet, jangles loose change in his pocket,
Jogging memories and garnering thoughts as he walks.
For Mr. Joe's brain washes, tumbles and dries,
his gems of thoughts in hourly cycles, with riddles, jingles and rhymes.
The old shed sits askew on rollicking wavy hills.
Rocked and rolled by time and wind relentless.
It sits yielded, poised, defiant, with a lilt of tilt
To hum, as it rides out its days of torment and stress.