1-6-2019
Not sure what to write while the world is on the brink of another war. While others face
This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,
Tonight, the wind whistles as it rushes through the atmospher… Winter’s bare limbs of swaying trees, dance in the shadows.
Sitting on the lake shore, Which made my heart soar, The water rippled at times, Swirled into beautiful lines, Clouds reflected in it’s mirror,
Blue star behind tree branch. White cloud passing half moon. Black space surrounds like a
The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.
Remember the night we took your mother’s car and drove over the skyway bridge? The moon was a bright light to show the way.
This evening the blank, white page is open. My nerves are on edge, while a storm forms on the horizon.
White heron skidding the blue, grey water, of the bay. How free and easy you make it look,
I heard past generations In my son’s voice, I saw his life fly Into another dimension, A place, I can only imagine.
As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,
Red sun in the morning rolling up the side of earth. The sky turned pink, as a ball of fire showed it’s strength,
When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.
An owl hoots on this cool, crisp Spring night. A sound that’s distant yet echos
Walking on the beach of long ago, the constant roll of the gulf, it’s sound, like a lullaby.