L C Vieira
Biography of L C Vieira
These words are just some of my works of many years and stories. They are not finished. The process continues. It started when a few poems escaped the journals high in the closets where I hid them. I've lassoed some, but others remain online, as wild as when they left.
I started writing poetry and verse as a young teen appreciating the details in nature. Poetry became a necessity as an adult dealing with life's challenges and joys. I see symbolism and stories everywhere, and so poems and art in all forms are waiting to be born.
L C Vieira's Works:
I keep an online studio where I house these, and other works: http: //poetryfx.com
For all poems: they can be shared and copies can be made as long as the original work isn't edited, if it's not-for-profit; and with recognition of author. I am working on a selection of art and poems for print and an installation exhibit.
L C Vieira Poems
What happened to the art of writing long letters to a friend, a lover waiting anxiously, a beginning and an end?
Mental Health Awareness Week
Oh, I'm aware. Too aware. I wore my bright colors, my orange and golds, the big yellow hat, closet greens unrolled.
'Unworthy of this wilderness, a majesty too great for kings, lakes and rivers, wide as dreams, moving faster than my words;
Life Is Not Random
Life is not random when each fall takes us higher than ourselves.
Bless The Child
Bless the child who's blessed me, bless the child who's cursed me, and stolen from and hurt me.
The trees kissed each other Good Morning as I peeked around the fog and up their
Enchantment's hour, soon elves at play with fairies full of grace, in gowns of pink and silver, shimmering satin and fine lace. These flutter ‘round the baby, Princess Emmy Rose asleep, to tickle toes and pinch her nose until the wee one squeaks.
The big owl died because of crows. They caught him sleeping, chased him away, that lazy famous afternoon half a century ago.
Here in this place now that you're gone we find your hope and hear your song inscribed and nourished by this land, its lake and forest, more the man
Walleye Fishing Song
(to the tune of Home, Home on the Range) Oh, show me that hole where the Walleye extols
The Purple Unicorn
I know you'll think me crazy, but I've seen the strangest thing, it happened while my baby slept beneath a bush one spring. It's something that passed by my eye, and made me gasp in awe. It's something that I know is true - because I truly saw.
Mama Is A Crazy Girl
Mama is a crazy girl, my children sometimes sing; when Mama dances on the table snakes hanging from her head.
The Afikomen: Ask The Question
Ask the child Ask the rabbi Ask the Christian Ask God.
There is no moment like this one with you, no bed as welcoming, no morning to greet me as you do.
Three Thirty Nine A.M.
Three thirty-nine a.m.
A growing madness drowns the quiet,
heat humming through the vents,
the cold night mocking its attempt,
and I awake, still awake,
pound my pen to you.
Where does my practiced peace go in the night,
and all that contentment you talk about?