In garb drab, and cold, cold room
a hand dips brush in gold..
Transforms a sheet of vellum smooth
to story, lovely told.
.
Head bent low in candlelight
his hunger never fed,
for though this man of God has food
art takes it's place instead.
.
Notes not he, the winter chill
as he draws vines and flowers.
Concentrating in such depth,
his prayers are for hours.
.
That he may stay in his small cell
and finely draw the letters.
He lives a life colored so bright,

Answers? There...
-
answers? there
30 years devoid of air
clouds pushing low to ground
I am found, I am found
in a basement in Ohio
for fear of storm
the norm, the norm
-
I felt the blade on my forehead
briefly but
the cheers and dread
were mixed
I did the job
fixed up
free
called
debauchery
or whatever you like
the spike, the pike, the microphone
the words turn like
a telephone............................one way
-
another day

The other day I called it in

to my office, from the hall;

it wasn't that my muse was, "off"

it wasn't doing anything, for any reason, at all !

At the onset I thought it was but, a tad tired;

and l thought l'd give it another day;

then l began realizing a listlessness

that was contagious, much to my dismay.

I spoke with the man at the pharmacy

who assured me that there was a cure;

and that, if it were not soon administered

there'd be consequences no poet could endure !

Grand Old Hairline
by RW
-
-
I don't know much history
yet less about economy
no clue about the policy
But Nixon had less hair than Kennedy
-
-
I don't know about the deficit
can't expand on any party view
But this I know lickety split
Bush had less hair than Clinton too
-
-
Don't know much about the arms race
My train of thought don't go that far
Though Mondale's case I did embrace
Reagan had more hair by far.
-
-
-

A spark igites
and the rest is history.

That lone, single spark
is responsible for it, all!

The laughter, tears, and anger,
depression, giddiness, and regret;

all were each but, a single live-wire.
Once lit, ther is no turning back!

However, it's the moment that decides
which avenue shall encompass

where the fire shall burn,
and exactly who should be holding the flame!

Come September
she stands at the bathroom sink
in a glow of soft artificial light
face to face with her reflection
applying nightly moisturizing cream
to the apples of her cheeks and
all the mountains and the valleys
which hold the lines and wrinkles
that tell the progressive
story of her life.
she wonders if it matters
if anything can
stay the hands of time
and she struggles to find
the woman in the mirror
in the girl within her mind

Spring Breeze
By RW

Japanese Poetry workshop: 4 haiku, 2 senryu, 1 tanka

By Ron Blue Demon77

=========================================================
Haiku 1

Ominous clouds loom
signs of the approaching rain
for the thirsty plants

=========================================================
Haiku 2

Green skies turbulent
ebon tendril reaches ground
Nature's fury's face

==========================================================
Haiku 3

In minutes it arrived
singing in low voices and
swinging from street lights.

It danced under branches
and wallowed in the breeze.
It hid under carpet and
scrabbled out of leaves.

It slipped over and laughed like
a hundred wobbling cranes.
Then pulled me closer while
whispering your soft name.

It was a freedom etched in
sadness with a solemn
blackened face.

~

Underneath my dream, idea tree
with full access to my library
where the moments only count if your breath's away;

tread soft through the canopy's veil
it's anyone's guess, in this odd tale;
are they at work? At rest? Or will they play?

~

So quick! Am I to sanitize
each moment bold, I categorize;
so I know when one does end, and the next shall start;

breathe each one in, or turn to stone
after all they're yours, alone
you gave her "life", very deep, inside your heart!