But next time, for sure

The Sun settles lower,
changing the shadows,
playing with the light
between the slats of the fence,
catching the robin,
partly in shadows,
part way in golden light,
making me wish
for a camera.
But Time
sends the robin away.
And the day
soon follows.

Show them what’s behind Door #1

A small package of rebellion
shows up on the steps
as the brilliant Sun and
morning dew
open the shopping center
of ideas
which lead away from door #1 --
another day at the grind.
Aluminum desks,
topped with windows,
programmed to show
only prescribed content,
fit for a late spring day
of heretical thoughts,
as eyes travel
and thoughts meander
like water from spring storms,
cutting new paths
in dry dirt.
Pyramid shaped tracks
as resistance
channels
the stream
and finds
me late
but not sorry.

Let them eat . . . oh, Never Mind

He wore his camouflage hat,
sitting on his stoop,
smoking a cigarette,
and I wondered why he bothered.
He was invisible to most people
anyway. Maybe
he sat there, watching them
scurry past, eyes averted,
hoping to be a beacon.
Flashing his message:
Life is not always
tea and cake.

* In response to Sunday Scribblings

Leading the Charge

The scent of lilac
            and dirt
               commingle
                 on the wind
                which pushes
                           out
                    the rain.
Hints
of late day sun, orange
as it burns through
the atmosphere,
spark a renewal
as neighborhood children
lead the charge outside.
The power tool brigade follows,
churning through wet grass,
hoping,
to beat the end of day
and the next rain.

Free Rain Shine

The rain is falling,
flowing, swirling,
puddling, pooling,
ruling the land.
Brilliant greens shine,
making up for the lost sun.
Verdant suburban lawns,
wild in their natural state.
Raindrops dance off of
over-passes,
cannon-balling into pools.
Makeshift streams
flow down sidewalks,
carrying tulip petals
like ships,
floating lazily
to whatever end
may find them.
I water myself
before heading in-doors,
natural
for the moment.

This Découpage Life

Thoughts,
cut out of magazines
are not mine.
But,
pasting them together,
covering part of one
with part
       of another,
the ideas
bleed together
forming a
new
idea.
A belief
that is mine.
Until the scissors
come out again.

Maybe I Shouldn't Have Splashed

Playing in the rain
             again.
Spl      ing,
   \   /
    ash
             dancing,
trying to find
the small kernel of truth
that lies at the bottom
of a puddle.
Spl      ing,
   \   /
    ash
              again,
spraying
passers-by
who hurry on past
for fear
I may contaminate them
with hope.