POETRY
In whispered rhythms, raindrops fall, a soothing, subtle, softening call,
Each one a note in nature's hall, upon the roof, the leaf, the wall.
On leaf and limb, on roof and door, in melodies that long endure,
Rain sings softly to the soul, in subtle tones, this nature’s cure...
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a comedy
In the solemn silence of my room, a single suit suspends,
Its shadows cast in creases, where the mourning light bends.
I dress in drab attire, with a necktie's tight twist,
For farewell to a face, in life's long list, scarcely missed.
In winter's whisper, wondrous and white,
A path unwound in the hush-hallowed night.
Through the forest's frosty, frozen sprawl,
Beneath the moon's muted, mystical call...
In a realm where shadows and silence lie,
'Neath the gaze of a full moon sky,
Stands an ancient building, old and high,
Where whispers and secrets ally.
In the middle of the road, a squirrel stands,
Hesitant, harried, with tiny hands.
Left, then right, a dance of doubt,
A road-crossing riddle, in and out.
Where moon beams caress the veil of night,
Among stones bathed in celestial light,
Beneath the constellations, a tale is molded,
Amidst whispering leaves, John's story is unfolded.
Where once a mother's love, so tender, so mild,
In the folds of memory, cradled her child,
Her whispers soft as silk, in night's embrace,
Guided Ian through time, in gentle grace.
In a quaint abode, on a peaceful street
Lived Bernie, the boxer, with mischievous feet
With drooping ears and eyes that would brightly gleam,
He'd embark on adventures, a wild, exuberant dream.
Tearing things to pieces, with an unbridled zest
Leaving his humans perplexed and distressed
Upon the dusk, when shadows claim their right,
A blanket of stars, in quiet array,
Beneath the heavens' grand, ethereal view,
Their whispers stir the soul, in night's ballet,
In each glimmer, ancient stories lay,
With every twinkle, time's secrets sway.
Kneeling in a drift, in the Sunday morning air,
Tying a loosened lace with care,
I felt a gentle tremor in the air,
A fragile life descending from the boundless air.
In whispers, woods weave overtures untold,
The stories of the musical saplings bold.
Mighty oaks like conductors with arms outstretched,
In leafy whispers, tunes are etched.
Each rustle, a song, in breezes relayed,
In the heart of the forest, music and shade.
Speak of time and of its sands
Speak of clocks and of their hands
Wish for lives upon a star
And the end of wars afar
Talk of clocks their rhythmic dances
In the quiet of a dim-lit room,
A dancer with shadows and roses in bloom,
A vision of my beautiful mother,
More joyful than any other.
In shadowed streets, whispers awaken,
Forgotten folks, fate's forsaken.
Hidden hearts, hopes hang low,
In the city's silence, their stories flow.
Follow Me
