Good Morning, Good Night

I thought about you

So I texted to say good morning

And then I thought about you some more

My text, as useful as an unsent one


I thought about you

So I texted to say good night

Then came dawn, but no response

And so I thought some more


Something about a good morning text

A little sweetness to my day,

Something about a good night text

Soothing, for some sound sleep,

Like a pinch of salt or a spritz of perfume,

Blush on my cheeks for a pop of color,

Like a drop of water, making a mighty ocean

The little things go so far

The fewest of words may change a day,

For tomorrow isn’t given

The fewest of words, may be the last you ever say,

Because sleep may come and be deep

So good morning, my dear

I thought of you

And I pray you have a good night

Godwilling, you hear from me on the morrow

Canvas

It wasn’t supposed to end up like this

But I tell you now, the story

Of the paint splattered canvas

Once white and bare

Awaiting kaleidoscopic ideas

Of painter, once in euphoria


It wouldn’t have ended up like this

But here is the story

Of the birth of insecurities

Once unknown, some well managed

But words sowed seeds

In a painter, once self assured


It shouldn’t have ended up like this

But the story is clear

The canvas white, no more

And awe no more, to its beholder

Because of unkind words and opinions

The painter, now in need of an inner mending

Blossom now, You, Rose …

Taking it, because I taught myself to

Listening, because all they did was subdue

Oh, what an awakening

Rose flower, time to see a blossoming


From first sight of a hue

To petals fragile, trying to break through

Rose flower, touched pruned, positioned

But truly blossom, she hasn’t


The rose wants to blossom

Her way, bend if she must

The rose wants her true growth

It’s time, their opinions must go with the dust

Meanwhile

As you find yourself

Chasing after your dreams

Bringing life to your desires

There’s a meanwhile

That encircles you

Our Creator, Our God

He knows best

He wants for us

What will exceed

Our highest expectations

Dear one,

Fret not,

Over what’s on the other side of the fence

But in the meantime

Floating in the meanwhile

Be content, and also ready yourself

For a forever blessing

When the going gets tough

When the going gets tough

There and then

A pouring, of what we’re made of

No one looks at the bird in flight

To make mention of its fatigue

But let same bird see a falling

Poor bird, with ruffled feathers

When the going gets tough

You keep going, soaring high like the bird

Till you meet ground

Poor fellow, with a few hiccups

You’ve seen a falling?

Get up, you forlorn one

And try again, that you may fly

To heights you once knew

The Man with One Chair

The man with one chair

Likes to sit alone

One will catch a glimpse of him

When the worn out country sun

To the horizon, has gone


The man with one chair

A beer for company

But in his thoughts

Miss Alabama, is wandering

Can you fathom this mystery?


That man with one chair

Won’t be alone for too long

Till sweet lil’ Miss Alabama

Goes sashaying his way

Wowing just enough, to capture his gaze


A capture of two now in her trove

The man with one chair

May soon give out his seat

Props out to Miss Alabama

For stealing his gaze, his heart and now, his chair

“I know I can trust you, but…”

Trust, like a tree in autumn

Questioned by the unknown

I know I can trust you, but…


Said branches to leaves

Said leaves to branches

Trust may break

Trust may be shaken

Trust may be lost, completely


Like a leaf in autumn,

One may feel betrayed

When suddenly let go

By whom they thought as their backbone

High up on cloud nine

Left to a plunging, cold fall


Like a branch in autumn

One may be shockingly abandoned

By leaves that leave

One may be made a fool of

By leaves that threaten to leave

That may be you, shaken, broken inside


Trust, like a tree in autumn

Broken by the unpredictable

I know I can trust you, but…

Pockets

A day at a time

A tear that will dry

There is a reason,

There is a season

But still there is despair

A hug to say all is fine

A word of encouragement

To calm a racing mind

But there will still be that moment

Hands in pockets, and emptiness felt

Such is a revisiting sorrow

That comes in waves

Such is a daunting anxiety

That comes uninvited

Such is the guilt felt

For shifting the mood

So I ask that you bear with me

You jolly soul, best friend, confidant

One day it may be well

One day the pockets may be filled

With something other than emptiness

Something worth remembering,

Something that will carve a smile

The Little Things

The little things

Do make the difference

It has taken some years

But the eyes now see this


Some fancy jewels

But she, a reading chair

For the lustre many seek after

Is second to a great novel


The little things

Do make the difference

Like a bowl of macaroni and milk

To appease the hunger pangs


Some prefer take out

But she, a home cooked meal

Because temporary delicacies

Wear out this body, her temple

Inspired By Thaxted

Dawn sweep away the perils

That chided me in sleep

Praying and crying out, though nasal

My Saviour, He hears me weep


Turned on side, pillowing my fears

The stillness, so loud, envelops

Reminded of a hymn to repress the tears

Gathering courage, to never give up hope


The day is bursting through

And the remnants of night, they fade

Flee away you woe, perhaps one or two

For today we choose joy, and will not trade

Undoing

To know that, she’s had you

Over and over

I want to understand

When you say you’re committed

Just how many times must I have you

To teach your body something new?

I say that I’m fine, but these words…

Need undoing , revealing that I’m not

Miss Shelly

Miss Shelly

I call her

For she’s spared these eyes

A humbling moment


I hope that I too

Will someday be a Miss Shelly

She’s clothed in dungarees, blonde hair in a messy bun

She cradles her wee one, who’s also matching her khaki jacket


Miss Shelly

Ever so protective

Very much the doting mother

She loves on her little one


And me? I watch

Till his eyes meet mine

Baby chuckles in delight

What a wonderful sight to behold


Ah Miss Shelly!

She’d do anything for him

She’d put herself last

Miss Shelly, go on and be blessed


And I can’t help but think

Of all the purest connections

My eyes have made

With the very young and innocent


I wish they’d remember

I wish that, this could someday make them smile

I wish they’d know, how for a few minutes

They had made a stranger’s day

Blues

In a world of chaos

Some are choosing their blues

The big ones, the little ones

And they ponder in recluse

So be wary and considerate

That you know not their fate

For some have slept

Only to wake and walk

Walking, but not existing

For some have dreamt

A thousand dreams, yet still sulk

Moping in misery

And for some, they are hoping

For a glimpse of a miracle

Hands clasped tightly

As they mumble prayers of petition

And as for the writer,

She cries out for reassurance

Tonight, feeling weighted more

By the littlest of blues