Little ways to say a lot
Poems
What the heart wants is a slow dance; The floor is too fast. A touch too quick is friction in the brush. The pulse grinds steel against jagged steel Short shock sparks mis-labeled matchboxes For a miss-matched lit match. But the heart wants a slow dance Friction-less
Poems
To follow a dream is to be fed by that dream
Poems
She still holds the night under the waves a lake can make. She still keeps safe the dream of the moon. A flower, a tree, or you and me, can’t be without the dark. Too much of anything will kill you. Someone tell the sun. The moon shines back
Poems
If I could shut off the madness of others, Think of the beauty I could say and sing Without the ding-a-ling punch of the run around Shouts from the This Isn't Righters, Whines From the That Is Wrongers. So much sacred daylight spent surmounting So many
Poems
Dusk orange paints the silhouette yawn Of a great blue heron atop a rock the drought announced. Sailboats float the indigo under a great orange blue sky, Slide the serene by the great grey bluebird. Autumn wears an every-color shawl starved for green- envious of blue. She fires orange
Poems
(:In your window:) The Nuthatch. Yup. Yank. Red Breasted, too. Yup. Yank. Yank. A one note twisted baby bugle. Yup. Yank. Yank. Yank. All day. Yup. All day. Yank. Yank. Yank. The Nuthatch Yup. Yup. Yup. With the Red Breast. Yank. Yank. Yank. (:In your window:) ~ Wynn ~