Favorites (Page 4)

A woman dancing at the beach as the sun goes down over Bali, as seen from Gili, Indonesia.

Ever speaking of future,
my dreams I would share.
Oh the things I’d accomplish,
when I arrived there.

When at last I looked back,
it was then I did find,
my life was created,
one day at a time.

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Silhouettes of an electrical pole and lines with flying birds and maple leaves blown through the air, set against an orange sunset.

Dodging, darting they separate,
in playful colors beneath the sun.
Paths cross as they converge,
again becoming one.

It’s a short-lived reunion,
as their ways part once again.
United in divergence,
like leaves blown in the wind.

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An open book, with pages extended upward, lies on a light-colored wooden desk. Sparkles, light, and smoke appear to be coming from within it.

Enjoying the beauty of meter and rhyme,
a poem revealed inscribing each line.
One day I’ll be lost to the passage of time,
but dreams will live on in this poem of mine.

[continue]. . .

Image Credit: "Cotswold side yard at Greenfield Village" by E.L. Redwine

Today I rose before my eyes could see.
To keep them closed is just stupidity.
With all the struggle that’s in front of me,
feet hit the floor.

The morning paper smacks me in the face.
Sometimes this world can be an awful place.
Lost my faith in the human race.
Then I look next door.

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A quill pen and an ink well rest on an old, open book in a library.

Let us begin to write with colour.
Measuring beats with the stroke of a pen.
Not all are meant to share with another,
but help us recall lost moments again.

[continue]. . .

A dying tree, its bark peeling, exposes the dried-out trunk beneath. It is the first in a long row of chestnut trees that line a country road.

Looking at trees
that line the drive
while long in perdition
my heart it cries

Enclosed in its wounds
her visage it lies
the inside is dead
not but skin left alive

[continue]. . .

A macro image of a green grasshopper, with golden-brown legs, clinging to blades of grass in a field.

I am a dog lying in the doorway, a casual observer of clouds, filled with excitement, I run, spin, fall, arise, and do it again. I am an explorer of worlds, paddling down a stream. seeing old places as though new. filled with life and thought.

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