THE PEOPLE
Red Alert
I Remember the Dance
The Ancestral Tree
Circle of Friends
The Witches of Canterbury
The Vigil
Young Lady with the Dragon Tattoo
The Blue Palette
The Rescue
The Artist Whisper
Dance a Little Dance
The Bountiful Bouquet
Hang on Tight
Red alert, this woman is out for true blood, she will not be just hunting the standard stud. She will find a true love, than make her tender kill, this precious bounty demands a great tracking skill. She will procure this booty, for the rest of her life, wielding her wit and charm like a razor knife. A virtuoso with affairs of the heart, she'll fillet any cheating beating part. This true heart-felt kill is done without pain, her chosen quarry won't even complain. When all is finally picked clean and done, he'll believe he was the hunter that won. For the rest of his life, he'll brag what he bagged, but, she'll know it was he, that was truly snagged. So, red alert, red alert, because you have no clue, she's well trained and skilled, much more crackerjack than you.
I remember my springtime of new dances, my youthful excitement to take some chances. I remember the long walks, but a short distance, my jittery ask for lovely dance assistance. I remember the inviting warmth of her "yes," the girly goodness of her glorious green dress. I remember her swirling pink perfume, filled my imaginations, filled the room. I remember blurted words, "You look like a model," the millionth time she's heard that very same twaddle. I remember her instant blank stare, the moment I was no longer there. I remember her quick polite, "Thank-you, good-bye," my wounded heart menacing, just go home and die. Mostly I remember, my friends laughter and teasing good cheer, throughout the night, till last call's cold beer.
Midnight reverie beneath the ancestrial tree, a stolen pensive moment for honored memory, So many loved before, danced their serenades, so many loved before, sang their accolades. Does the music play on, after the ball, or just one dazzling dance, then last call? Kindred voices whisper a loving truth, "Respect our lives by dancing out your youth." "Do not hesitate life for riddled death, it is your time to dance with gifted breath." "Put your dancing shoes on."
Silver strings, resonate a stirring shiver, air puffs, pump a hokey harmonic quiver. Melodies circle and interlace, laughter and joyus music embrace. Many hands playing one familiar song, with this banded choir singing along. A gathering crowd will thumbs-up and cheer, then, with dimming lights, vapor disappear. The fun and easy will always end, it's the clean-up that rates the sure friend. The music may fade and ripple away, but, faithful friends, close the circle, still stay.
The Canterbury witches brew the mystic tea, with enchanting powers to evoke love's three. First love, possess the sparkle of the new, but, first heartbreak can manifest itself too. Romantic love, embraces with red hot desire, but, the fickle heart can provoke a lovelorn mire. True love, raptures the grandest and rarest to find, but, one must make ready for its forever bind. Still, what's wrong with a little help, perhaps here and there, a teeny-weeny love potion made with expert care. Some say, never play with love's great power, it can rebound and go bitter sour. So, buy your charms and spells with a great hope, just don't be surprised if love still says, nope.
She stands alone, but is not apart, suffers the wait with a reaching heart. Fond farewells can become lasting good-byes, loosing desperate hope to fill emptied skies. The taken love, drops us to our knees, leaving us stranded with dear God pleas. But, the faithful know, that all lost will be found, she stands vigil with that promise most profound. This whole life, is a mere moment or two, all come home, and wounded hearts will renew.
Her garden path flickers with fiery light, retreating shadows slide just out of sight. Though dim and daunting, she shows no fear, Her chosen totem is always near. Her dragon inside is still so very young, innocent of the dangers she is among. Still, the midnight stroll is one that all must take, letting fear stall your path, is a grave mistake. Mindful burdens chaperon these walks, always encircling, the dark stalks. If the shadows breach, her sleeping dragon will rise, breathing a blazing fire that burns no compromise.
Their musical repertoire, is a palette of blue, a collection of forlorn sorrows played through and true. Each toot, each strum, is a masterful stroke, glazes of azure that deeply evoke. The brighter chroma's of joy would make duller sense, if blues were not mixed for the contrasting intense. Silver stings of sapphire, can paint the broken heart, this blue palette of song, becomes a true work of art.
POP! Goes Penelope Sweetheart's balloon flyer, her perdicament is looking a little dire. She leaps to safety and deploys her bustle chute, carefully she prepares her face to read real cute. Disaster has struck, already three times this week, she makes ready to be rescued all flustered and meek. The men of Air Rescue Seven are all handsome and single, their busy schedule leaves them no time to mingle. How will they ever find a true love to one day marry, she thinks the bachelors life sounds lonely and quite scary. They will come to her rescue in just the nick of time, so very happy and grateful, Penelope will mime. All the men bravely boast, how they alone saved her life, but, she already knows which one will make her his wife. There is one last question that all should assume, truly ask yourself, just whom rescued whom?
Do not disturb, she's sitting in her whisper spot, where God's quiet council is so secretly sought. Unable to grasp, with elusive ponders, the key that unlocks, still aimlessly wanders. Though the creative quest can glow dull and weary, something just floats in and bouy's up the cheery. It's surly a humbling save for most, but, some still puff up and pompous boast. So, we'll embrace the applause, yet deeply all know, it was the inspired whisper that won the show.
Dance a little dance in the stormy grays, hum a little song on those dreary days. Stomp your bare-feet in the mucky mire, laugh in the face of the dreadful dire. One gift of life, with so many yet to be stories, one final good-bye, with too many unfinished sorries. So, dance a little dance, when life shades it stormy gray, you're not getting out of this life, alive anyway.
Only one sunny day to build her life's bouquet, flower by flower, her heart is put on display. With each new pick, the blended fragrance grows, carefully arranged the beautiful shows. Many thorny thistles do challenge the way, one misstep, the painful demands its pay. Still, the truly beautiful must always be boldly won, it bears the purpose to life's bouquet built under the sun.
Against the gale, run ever so swift, when young, thats how you'll get your lift. Make ready, then loosen a little more cord, though further away, it brings triumph toward. With dizzying heights, that breathlessly soar, challenging not one moment to ignore. For the fickle winds of fate, constantly heave, menacing the taut tether, to snap, too leave. Though tissue frail and balsa light, strength comes from holding on tight.
He Tries She Tries
Once upon a musical perch she sat, her true love's song gone pitchy flat. Ten heartfelt versus, sung way off key, already captured, she would not flee. A piercing tribute to his deep dedication, afterwards, she needed headache medication. Their whole life, he honored his crooning music pledge, their whole life, she stifled her laugh and did not dredge. Until her dying day, his song she did never forget, but, on that day, laughed so hard with no final regret.
Ghosts in the Know
Disappearing
Chicken Soup
Sitting in the Miracle
Professor Plum
Flutter Fan Gossip
The Vagabonds
Parasols at Dawn
The Letter
A Day Off
Sweet Nothings
The Milk Maid
What do ghosts in the know, gossip about, when there is no worries, no fear, no doubt? He says, that God once said, "His whole hidden plan, none can truly witness, so that all can claim, I didn't know forgiveness." She says, that the angels once said, "Love is what you need, not what you surly do desire, and the universe only helps with that higher aquirer." He says, that the saints once said, "True courage is silver, and kindness, rarest gold, this forever wealth you will always hold." She says, the martyrs once said, "The universe will challenge every good deed, so that no poser will pass without proper impede." He says,"lets go watch people in the shower."
A serene pull, and abstract melodies ripple, laying note over note, the harmonies triple. She softly closes her eyes and starts to slightly sway, resonating emotions, disappear her away. Heavy burdens, become vibration and sound, her serenade floats all the weighty earth bound. For a moment or two, we are carried off, somewhere, taken on her gifted musical journey of share. Her song finishes, then once more she is here, a smile, a new song, then poof! disappear.
Time for her very first flight tutorial, it might just end as his last memorial. Youthful excitement, is so lovely to see, young ability, can frighten a little pee. Todays lesson will test the teacher, praying to God, he was a preacher. His stomach will float between up and down, flying through the chickens of farmer brown. His prize chickens took quite the beating, some, just not quick enough or fleeting. He'll make it down with spinning head, but, have to spend the day in bed. Queasy and unsteady, he tries to rest, but, soon has a most unexpected guest. To help feel better, and to speed his recoup, she brings him some very fresh, hot chicken soup.
This hidden miracle, out of sight surrounds, God's gift of offering, unnoticed abounds. All the hows and whys, go beyond fully knowing, so tiny and fast, a mere blink in their showing. All the science and beauty, do easily blend, these entangled secrets, all connect, all transcend. It is truly, far too much to wholly realize, we're always sitting in this miracle sunrise. Let there be light.
Professor Plum believes math is truth, his whole life, he's been a numbers sleuth. No matter what the science occasion, there is a corresponding equation. His latest new math is quite a doozie, it has left many whirling and woozy. Men and women, may not represent the same, but, are totally equal in the math game. Each sex, will constitute the whole number of two, the symbolic nature of this number will do. The cursive two, is curvy and refined, perfect, for the women's image defined. The roman two, is rigid and strong, for men, these characters should belong. Appearing different, but equal in sum, is all the proof, his new math figures from.
They say, A little flutter fan gossip, never hurt anyone, hidden faces that whisper chatter, is just for fun. Some scandalous news, can set all the fans flapping, truth and lies leisurely mix with all this yapping. The scuttlebutt of things, is so important to know, without it, there would be no amusement, no talk show. A little flutter fan gossip can go a long way, but, the fanning of rumors, has the power to stay. Don't worry, as long as no one knows who you are, the balancing of karma, lays back, stays afar. So they say.
The Vagabonds, are a traveling music troupe, they play out their jazzy rhythms then fly the coop. They will just show up, at any time or place, gift their music, than vanish without a trace. They need no payment or recognition, they're on some musical mystic mission. To remind people that joy can just appear, making even the dullest day much more dear. In truth, real hardships always show up, right out of the blue, So, balancing life with the lovely is just what they do.
The morning mist clings heavy and begins its dissolve, two broken hearts stand apart seeking their due resolve. Dear friends once, but contenders today, one little misstep, one big betray. Even gallant hearts can let their firm guard dip, one wanting moment, and the weaken can slip. Love's triangle always ends in tragedy, leaving two emptied hearts full of agony. The mending balm of forgiveness will once again apply, when found the friendship would have been the more loving goodbye.
Writing out of the blue, a sudden parchment arrives, a few scratches of dark ink, and a golden love dies. "I love no other," will soar us to great heights, "I love an other," will banish all future brights. A single word can create or cancel, the weilding of words is quite substantial. It is written, the power of words holds no equal, but the greater potency is the chosen sequel. Words from without, hold a certain power, it is true, but, words from within can counter all that they do. Just like this scribbled verse, spoken silent in your head, how deep its meaning, lies fully with your choice instead.
SORRY! Impossible to reach, off to the sunny beach. Cheers for now.
He slips pass her shield, and whispers her name, charming sweet nothings are part of the game, She feigns little intrest, yet weighs each word. his beautiful script, borders the absurd. She knows pretty words are mostly disarming. that truthful words are less likely so charming. Still, the rom-com stage has now been set, engaging banter has placed its bet. It is a gamble of wits, for precious hearts, both elegantly playing their chosen parts, Though this scenario will be prolonged for quite awhile, she had already decided, the moment she saw his smile.
Midnight Rendezvous
Her milking chores are finally done, three fuzzy scamps reveal one by one. Mewing pleas for just a little taste, hoping for a spill of dripping waste. Fluffy, furry paws gently pat touch, their miming desire, is just too much. The purring kittens, know she will always yield, as she draws out a hidden cream bowl concealed. But, in truth, her daily act of tiny caring, is much more than just a yummy taste she's sharing. Her true heart carries the golden rule on despairing, so, it's the milk of human kindness she's always bearing.