Poetry & More
Gray
Oh glorious sun, so shamelessly bright
Where do you hide on mornings so stark,
so dreary and gray?
I would be off to find you,
but for all I have to do
You must be up to something
where'er it is you are…
Resting, or playing amongst other stars?
It's summertime, I guess you know
Or did you forget your finest hour of splendor?
Perhaps you're weary of hearing us curse the blistery hot afternoons,
the May’s, July’s, and June’s
Labor
A poem by Dawn Thomas
It’s hot; it’s noisy;
It’s summer.
the buzzing of a saw, the popping of a nail,
the sweating of the brow.
And the workers carry on.
Not Ellie, my yellow tabby, who wanders by
with only a wish for a scratch or two under the chin
She bears no worry or burden,
her belly is full, and her sleep is dreamy
Things
Things I need, they are but few,
But I must needs them when I do.
It's not so much to wish for food
Until I want with hunger
Or a coat, until it’s cold
For every need demands a moment,
and every moment hath a need
What is called for, and when,
is what matters, it seems
Things, otherwise, are simply a burden to me.
A Splash of Red
There,
Amid the patchy gray, the steely hue
And the brown bark of a branch,
against the ashen twigs, and the smokey white sky,
A splash of cardinal red.
distinct,
unmistakable,
striking the clearest note
That Blessed Assurance
It is not for scarcity of doubt that I believe,
Or absence of fear that I hope.
Yet in spite of fumbling faith, I leap into the arms of God,
and wander through that foggy abyss,
until, at last, I feel that blessed assurance
and the hush of His presence.
Tiny Seeds
Oh little ones.
You are tiny, so tiny, embryonic and small,
and the ground from which you grow is like a blanket,
Making a bed for you to lie beneath.
There your journey begins.
What has been destined for you? Who charmed your making,
and gave you powers to rise from the earth so resplendent and bold?
Do you, like me, toil with growing pains
And ever wish to remain hidden ‘neath the dirt, unchanged?
or, to the rain, soil, and sun, do you gracefully surrender,
and take delight in your becoming?
Bubble
If I were a bubble,
I would alight softly on a tree
And wait for a breeze to carry me off again
I would float carefully and gently thru the clouds,
and soar on the wings of a robin
I would drift between raindrops in the middle of a storm
And count on the current to keep me dry and warm
I would give reflection to the moon each night
And spin in space like the earth
Round and round the sun I’d go, bouncing on a star
Then in the flutter and whirling of the wind
I'd waft back down again
So feathery light and delicate, of medium size and girth,
I'd pose on a prickly pine cone
‘t'il the air in my belly burst
That Tranquil Hour
All the busy moments relent as another day ends.
and the scorching heat subsides in that tranquil hour…
dusk,
when the perfect mix of coolness kisses the warm air;
and the sun, sinking softly into the faded sky,
quiets my mind, and stills my heart.
There are Days
There are days so novel and new;
When the playful sounds of a busy morning
awaken my heart, And I feel designed for some meaningful event plotted for no one but me
I am poised, like a cheetah, quick and sure footed,
And my mind is running with flawless perfection.
There are days when I hear the quiet
whisper of rain and the silence of a gray fog
Like the bowing of a single cello
I lay there, like a kitten on a rug, and my room is still;
The curtains lay open, but I shut the world out,
Pondering life and moments gone from me
There are days when the air feels like a feathery cloud, dreamy and distant
Like I don't belong to myself or the world
And places familiar to me seem strangely different,
Like I’m wandering through a play,
As a character; The one I chose to be,
But don't recognize.
There are days, like today,
when colors are pale
and the senses are blank, like a canvas waiting to be painted.
