Looked up on a once cloudy night...

Red-winged blackbird...

Black as starless night
Flight so fast an orange flash
Beauty in the sky

Robin's nest...

I spied a robin's nest above
Not six feet from the ground
A bunch of eyes looked down on me
While I milled around


The papa bird had spotted me
and looked on from afar
His beak packed with a tasty meal
Not taken from a jar


The babies chirped for sustenance
A morsel from their father
So, slowly I just backed away
And no more was a bother

The silent guru...

I've traveled over countless blades
(of grass) and stones :sigh: ok... pebbles

Through pits and valleys; even Hades
(that asphalt sure gets hot at noon)

You're mighty large. You must be old.
How did you get atop here?

You answer not. Oh, it must mean...
you want to know about me.

A shimmering speck; in the folds of a seat
Snatched up once seen; isn't that sweet?

Although I am small and cracked... and chipped
I'm not insignifi... insigni... insig... :sigh: I'm SOMEthing neat!




Click for the desktop sized image of the "speck" adventurer!

Who's looking out...

standing
staring
tHrough a window
gazing
peEring
ether creepS

swEeping
closEr
miSt surrOunds life
reaching
Upward
breaTh leaves you

—b13

broken and random...

I was googling the term "broken" to find something that would fit this image and came across a fantastic random poem generator site:
Broken Poem



broken poem

ignore it
love & fame & death

the hammers pounding in nails
the dead plants...

he stayed there on his big rump

the warmth of the grape

ignore the poor
walk along the street

Brisk stroll...

I want to go out
But it is so cold
A town stroll is calling
It never gets old

My fur is so short though
I'm sure I will shiver
And if I am lucky
Master will buy liver

She takes out my collar
She takes out my leash
One last visit please
To my water deesh
(I had to reach for that one)

A box from the closet
Is opened as well
And what my eyes see
I agree is swell

It's orange and gray
Has a fold at my neck
Wraps around my belly
To keep me warm on our trek

—b13

Where the Sidewalk Ends...

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

—Shel Silverstein

I always loved Shel Silverstein's poems as a child. And while walking recently I found the magical spot.

Are you proud?...

You steal as a child;
but your parents say "Not my child!"
You cheat on a test;
but you get a "Job well done!"
You vandalize a park;
but you are "Studying at Fred's house."
Your bottles turn up in the lake;
but her body remains on the side of the road.

Are you proud?

A place to rest...

Concave and smooth to the touch.
Perfect for your rear to rest.
Soaking up the heat of the sun.
But cool as the fireball sets.

Reflection...

Another rainy day.
Another day of "blah."
Another day of high gas prices.
Another day of headaches.
Another day of doubt.
Another day of unknown.

Another day of wonder.
Another day of worth.
Another day of love.
Another day of work.
Another day of life.
Another rainy day.