Beat of My Heart – Ballad
The beat of her heart brings me to life
And her smile is a ballad of love.
The sound of her voice is a rhythm of beauty
Echoing like a choir above.
I try to say hi in my squeaky tone
But my words are out of tune.
Her eyes find mine, then flutter away
Maybe we’ll meet again soon.
Where the Sidewalk Ends – Cento
She dared me prove that it was true
Over the carpet and under the chairs,
Into the hammock and wound round the stairs.
Is it two years’ worth of your dirty laundry?
When wind blows down the hills,
I’ve never washed my shadow out
In all the time I’ve had it.
A kingdom of wisdom? A palace of gold?
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings.
Poor Sarah met an awful fate
That I cannot right now relate,
And I really cannot tell you.
But, oh, there’s only one thing wrong.
And so she changed while other folks
never tried nothing at all.
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Never returned to the world they knew
And goodness and kindness and gentleness,
Sweetness and rightness
The place where the sidewalk ends.
The C so open and round, half fulfilled but the other yearning for something, craving what is not there.
Then the Righteous R, so profound and erect, he establishes a sense of dominance among the letters, a sort of father-like appearance.
E, the first of the two, the older twin who always looks after his brother and uses his many arms to keep the others in line.
Oh the A, so bold with its stance, affirming it’s right to be there, but softening the attitudes of the letters before her with her open heart.
Then comes the T, a straightedge with no fear. He elongates in a way to prove himself to the others, prove his right to be there.
Finally the other E backs up his brother and the rest of them with a sturdy frame, arms out, honest and brave as always.
A Season of Change
The orange and auburn flakes dance quietly in the yard
I watch as they perform the ballet of the season
They fall and lift and swirl in the breeze
All alive with the spirit of fall
The trees above watch in admiration
Swaying to the rhythm of their blossoms
Their children; learning to move as one with the wind
A magical time of the year
Where we find beauty in our world
Where nature changes and shows us something new
Eyes so menacingly yellow,
You seem uncertain but yearning to be.
Still as a statue you stare back at me,
Tail scuffed and flared pointing to the sky like an enemy flag.
You are seen when you want to be,
All black with those white spots on your paws;
Paws that can trap prey in an instant or silently make their way across a field of broken leaves.
Menacing those eyes, but warm.
We sit, watching each other, trying to understand.
A bus drives by.