Daring...
...is sharing and caring.
Daring
is baring one's soul,
wearing one's heart openly.
Daring
is risky yet rewarding,
sometimes downright frightening.
Daring
is being the person
one chooses to be.
Daring
is knowing when to say "yes"
and when to say "no".
Daring
is knowing what one is supposed to do
and then doing it.
Daring
is pairing the ying and the yang,
achieving balance without a pang.
Daring
is making a difference
every day of one's life
The Grillmaster's Magic
Drifting charcoal smoke
wafts across the patio;
herb-flecked chicken breasts,
King salmon flown in from Alaska
and scrubbed red potatoes
rest on the grill, transforming
to a Sunday night delight.
No replacing...
...an original;
no replicating,
duplicating,
scanning and copying.
No altering,
no touching up,
no polishing,
no smoothing the edges.
Irreplaceable,
the embraceable
original;
not perfect;
at times,
infuriating,
complicating,
exasperating,
but always
exhilarating,
the priceless original..
A Creative Quest...
to make the very exceptional best
of each passing day, in truth or in jest;
to pass each day's life expectancy test,
ready to face tomorrow's love fest,
searching, North, South, East, and West
only to complete that creative quest
in one's very own nest.
Decisions
Decisions at times are easy;
it's living with them that's hard,
enough to make the stomach queasy
and to keep one cautiously on guard.
The "yes" or the "no"
may have just popped out,
but from experience we know
there will often be doubt.
Wise are we, if in reflection
we need to make adjustments.
Free will gives us selection,
time...the needed moments.
Wise ones take advantage!
Red Tail Lights...
creating signals in code
as tree trunks,
in split seconds,
block the view.
Left blinker at the corner,
now out of sight.
Only stars of the night
to replace the twinkle
in his eyes. Elusive moon
enveloped in clouds,
plays hide and seek
as I scan the sky.
Darkened street.
Warm heart
blinking.
Happy tonight.
To freely Express...
to see it in print, signed,
affirms the premise, swirling in the brain,
from random thought to sweet refrain.
Like any work of art, the seeing
is the grand believing,
an idea transformed with color and form
or letters typed to form words of norm.
Creative affirmation,
positive acclimation,
free from suppression,
free expression!
Ten seconds...
Brilliant flashing lights,
emotion personified,
heliotrope cascading circles,
splashing orange sherbet,
white shooting stars,
blue dots and dashes.
"Ready for another?"
he queried. "I'm saving
the best for last!"
A dozen explosions
of sight and sound,
climaxing with a spectacular,
seemingly never-ending finale
under the appreciative sky.
The morning will reveal
the playful night,
a dozen pooped-out cannisters,
now cool, waiting on the patio
to be deposited in the trash.
The product, transient;
the memory, retained
as sensuous explosions.
Words
words remember;
words bring a smile,
spark an ember.
Rejoice when
words are tender,
waiting willingly to be
returned, in kind, to sender.
Talking to the Keys
troubles dissolved,
happiness shared,
secrets bared,
projects all finished,
work diminished,
dishes washed and put away,
house in order from the fray of the day,
then a moment to unwind with ease,
time to talk to the keys.
Do You Hear Voices?
the poem unfolds,
the tease of the opening
our attention holds,
wanting to hear
the end of the story.
Each composition
in its full glory
speaks of the style
of its creator,
graphic layout,
style originator,
sensuous words,
colorful phrases,
plaintive query,
life's phases.
After gaining familiarity
with each person's distinctive style,
recognizing the brashness,
the subtlety or the guile,
my cursor clicks
and I "hear" the author's voice
with dramatic expression
reading my choice.
The work comes alive,
brimming with personality.
There's no replacing
true originality.
Ogdenian twist
will turn on a dime,
send the brain leaning
toward a new meaning,
uprooting the premise
to sky from abyss,
totally surprising
with playful uprising.
Distracted
followed by a gush and a splash.
Jump up and make a wild dash--
sprinkler left on way, way too long--
sump pump regurgitating.
Did We Meet in the Hamptons?
slips through the ages,
other souls met
in varying stages.
Familiar encounters,
now and again,
as the soul saunters
searching for kin,
intrinsically drawn
with knowing passion
to both brain and brawn
in sensational fashion.
A familiar smile,
a passionate touch,
all the while
wondering such:
"How do I know thee,
fair maiden, white knight?
Why do you haunt me,
appear in my sight?"
From Medieval Fair
to the Roaring Twenties,
from Prehistoric lair
to the long-haired Seventies,
a connection, undeniable,
bordering on mystical,
totally unexplainable,
often impractical,
but everlastingly dependable.
Hide and Seek Moon
discreetly hidden
behind the neighbor's tall trees,
the moon becomes bold,
emerges unclad, charging across the sky.
How swiftly it flies, already hidden
from my view by the hip of the roof.
All this in less than five minutes.
Is it time that is flying,
or the moon across space,
or the minutes of life?
Cherish the minutes
before they, too,
play hide and seek
and fly by
unused.
Reciprocity
The words fly out,
not waiting to be tamed,
not harboring doubt,
ready to be blamed.
But if no one hears,
nobody reads,
poof, go the fears,
gone are the deeds.
Full circle, not completed
until the words are heard,
understood, not deleted,
but returned, well stirred.
Complementary Colors (as in complete)
dreaming of becoming
racey radiant red
a container away
from forest green gems
longing not to be picked
until reaching decadent deep red
or pleasing passionate purple.
Thankful are these tomatoes and peppers
for their compatriot early lime green peppers
and bountiful blessings of herbs
that their watering caretaker
can snip and clip daily,
saving the 90 dayers until
homegrown ripe,
Summer's gift.
