Scott Ransopher

Yesterday her black hair flew with the wind
Her beauty he could not have just ignored
But her love he could not possibly win
He fears his heart could be sliced by a sword
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Her friend's long skirt makes plumes across the sand;
She lies here listening to the whispering sea
That sends its ancient answers far inland,
And tries to pull their meanings into her.
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People surround him, yet he's still alone.
He enjoys the dark, but he fears the light.
He once was warm, now he's cold to the bone
How can he possibly survive this night?
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FALSE SPRING

Fat hyacinth bulbs,
Roused by a warm winter sun,
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You pace the fence with timeless strides of grace.
Along the white slats you are entertained
By dancing patterns of the oak lace.
You own this land that you have been ordained.
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Square numbers in the box flipped toward the hour
And in her car, the spotted windows sealed,
She. Measured pavement respirated foul,
Oppressive heat. The roadside view, concealed.
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She thinks about you every day
It feels like she's having bad dreams
Why did you have to go away?
You've been gone so much longer than it seems
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Accidentally, supposedly
Discovering her shores, slowly, eagerly
Sowing your seeds, forcefully, brutally
Raping her grounds, incessantly, foolishly
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There once was a woman that lived in a booth
She always knew what she was switching
Until she had a minor problem with her tooth
And after her tooth, she began twitching.
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The snow that falls so gently to the ground
Can do no harm, its form so soft, so fair
It comes about without a single sound
No matter when, how far away or near.
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When she alone drinks silver gray glowing
Clouds, sky, stars in silhouettes of mountains,
In sweet pure solitude, her joy brimming
Over the chalice with wine from fountains
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Earthbound
From winter's bitter sky
A falling star
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A brand new day: This life's most precious swatch;
A doorway to the world they've yet to see;
An unusual page; another golden notch;
A challenge and an opportunity.
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The rhythmical thrashing, a surge in all;
The pace is sped up without an ending.
The feel: it seems to take a slight fall;
Racing: it's never been this deafening.
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