of Spring

I send fleeting, desperate thoughts
out through my morning window,
hoping to connect
with something beyond this cup of coffee
which warms my fingers,
but they cannot compete
against the hush of tires
on wet pavement
and instead
die
slowly,
hidden deep
in the beautiful
emergent
green
of Spring.

It's Hard to Keep Them All Happy

Facing the daunting challenge
of coloring the crayons,
I grab fistfuls of maple leaves,
separating the Burnt Orange
from the Burnt Sienna
I find just enough Outrageous Orange
to intensify the Neon Carrot.
Fastidious Fuchsia
refuses my offer of Chestnut
which she needs for her to become Copper,
so I offer it to Magenta
who accepts it along with my offer of Mahogany
but he also demands the  Goldenrod
I'm saving for Inchworm.
Disheartened,
I grab Cadet Blue
from the morning drizzle
and head out for coffee.



* Thanks to Wikipedia for this amazing list of colors.

already fallen

And again
I found myself hanging stars
in the sky,
asking passers-by
for help
with the ropes and pulleys
(it's all ropes and pulleys).
Hastily running from
rope to rope,
trying to sustain the illusion,
that these stars
are worth reaching for,
avoiding
(for the moment)
the dreadful feeling
forming in the pit of my stomach
that
we've already fallen.

The Expected Fog

Clear skies
befuddle my brain
as it expected to see fog,
wet and gray,
where morning sun
burns through
just enough
to create watercolor filters,
toning down the harsh edges,
bleeding one color into the next,
creating a leniency of shape,
shapelessness,
calmness.
Rather than struggle
with harsh light
on brilliant blue skies
I invite the fog inside
where it is welcomed.
Home.

Over Apathy Falls in a Barrel

Disguised as rain,
apathy keeps falling from the sky,
striking the leaves
on the tree of good hope,
making them tremble
before hitting the earth
and dampening the ground
with
wasted oppurtunity.

Well, I'm part French Anyway

Listening, loud, to French songs,
which I do not understand.
Songs about riches
and love
sometimes leading to heartache.
Melody and voice
carry the story.
Persuasive enough in tone
that I can understand.
Or, perhaps I am a fool,
dreaming of the French countryside,
a bottle of Bordeaux
and the time to look at you.

*In response to Three Word Wednesday