Tag: creative

Snippets 2

On the road, I hitch-hiked up a mountain, only to spill my chili at a local tavern.

Across the Great Plains, I wandered and I wondered, where are the buffaloes?

On my desk, with a sweaty hand, I gripped a charcoal pencil. Never had I stooped so low.

On top of an iceberg, I drifted for many miles, laughing at the prospect of having a spaghetti dinner that night.

Is there a function waiting for me at the conjunction of two taxis and one ice cream cone dripping all over my shirt?

Clinging to my last ounce of dignity, I slowed down when the traffic light turned yellow.

Across the table from me, Madonna spoke in Japanese. Do you like sushi? I asked. She shook her head. So, why not? Too much sodium, she said. I wasn’t sure how accurate that was, so I just nodded and moved on.

Notion

Looking at the stars from quite afar,

I lounge in my PJs and count the work days,

And hope to grace I don’t lose my face,

Following rockets into outer space.

Can you embrace the logic?

Or have I lost my locket?

Coasting across the Indian Ocean,

I feel myself reflex to the bubbling potion.

Is there an answer, or an ending,

To this notion?

Snippets 1

Today I jumped up on a ray of sunshine and surfed across outer space into another galaxy where I found two furry green creatures who drove a spaceship with their noses.

In the evening, the salt and pepper of the day settles down to season my memories of all that has happened.

Floating down a river on an inner tube, my teeth came out and fell to the bottom.

Bellbottom blues bellow bluesfully down the street at the Bradfordville Blues Club.

Summer Bird

Summer bird, sing your song.

Tweedle-eet-deet, fly up and up,

To your nest in the tree.

Feed your babies from your beak.

Watch for shadows of preying hawks.

Watch for squirrels, thieves of food.

Winter bird, what will you do,

When there’s nothing to eat

Not far from home?

Winter bird, do you rise early,

To dig in the ground

For a crawling worm?

Something small, something good.

Something precious in the woods.

Not Much

Rain coming down on my head, runs

Down my nose, then onto my shoes.

Lovely day for a walk, he, he. Wonder

If there is any sanity in a Quaker

Parrot’s scream. Not so, it seems. By

The way, is there anything clean

About a bloody nose? My sinuses are

Dried out from the Claritin I take to

Stop the running. But there is a storm

Brewing. The rain falls, and steam

Rises from the asphalt. Oh, to take a

Scoop! My eyes are sore. Not much.