Poetry & Writing
“In black ink my love may still shine bright”
-Will Shakespeare
Future Makers
The painter’s brush, colors the world anew,
The musician’s notes, bring harmony to all,
The writer’s pen, tells our dreams and our stories,
The film maker’s reel, projects life’s images,
The sculptor’s hands, mold forms of thought,
The dancer’s body, expresses fluid joy.
It is simply this…
The artist communicates,
Unites us,
Connecting us, through the aesthetic weaving of color, sound,
words and images that touch our daily lives.
Giving us hope, dreams, joy and peace of soul.
For the artist is the future.
They are the Future Makers.
Locked Love
She holds her affections in a gold leafed box,
a word in pearls reads “mine”.
Battered, beaten, heart tugged and broken,
all through dusty time.
This box is locked and hidden from view,
guarded by sword and arrow,
All attempts to keep at bay,
and to stay, life’s tearful sorrows.
The heart does yearn to be set free,
but cautions do abound,
Small peeks and glances, questions answered,
til true love can be found.
And when that love has proved itself,
Bent down upon one knee,
She gently, slowly turns the key
To set her pure love free.
Expression
Expression comes in many forms,
from poetry to verse,
arranged with rhyme and rhythm,
it’s reason to converse.
It paints a picture, forms an image,
evokes so many feelings,
I’m cast afar down lovely paths,
Sometimes unclear of meaning.
Perhaps there is another way
To share the thoughts one knows,
If truth be told and understood,
Then why not faithful prose?
The Dream
Why did the dream seem so real?
Meeting embracing a long-lost love,
Affinity and sadness were all I could feel.
You stood tall before me, solid as life,
I could touch you and remember,
That I’d once been your wife.
You told me you thought of me, some 20 years ago.
Recalling a lifetime,
That we no longer know.
Is there really this place, that as spirits we go?
A between worlds connection,
For memories we’ve sewn.
I have a body, you no longer do,
It is this fine point,
That limits my time here with you.
I have to return, at dawn’s early light,
To waken and know,
This is my real life.
So I lay cozily covered, warm in my bed,
Remembering my love,
And all that we said.
It’s seems a great mystery, to if it was real,
But the tears on my pillow,
Affirms what I feel.