20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


3 Comments

Autumn

Autumn’s fingers poke into
blue skies, coloring trees
crimson, orange, yellow and gold,
dusting them with wealth,
expectation of change this time of year.
Frost soon,
gregarious announcer of winter
hunches with gray shoulders as
if it were a cat stretching. An odd
justice creeps over the land,
killing summer, erasing fall, and
lighting the landscape with white
moments.
No
October treasure remains.
Pilfered, we trudge on toward December
quietly, steadily, with
ragged
slicing
teeth cutting into growth
under the snows.
Violence erupts, blizzard
winds whip with
extraordrinary power,
yammering temperatures to
zero.


13 Comments

our old truck

‘conversation with you
was like a drug
it wasn’t your face
so much as it was your words’
Lucinda Williams

the farm 019

with light in my shadows
and cuts soft through my circles
you keep me from falling once again
but your words always did that for me

like that very first time
sitting in my old pick up truck
listening to Lucinda’s twang tell us
why we didn’t want that night to end

only you could convince
this shy boy to sing harmony
when it was your perfect voice
all i ever really wanted to hear

and my muraled furniture met
your folk art painted window panes
we got poor when greed burned the economy
chasing dreams i got crushed in its crossfire

‘We are not selling that truck!’
oh darlin’ you didn’t have to shout
everything i could ever hope to know about you
i would have heard your devotion in a whisper

and now our old truck
is getting some love in return
we shared these past ten years
and when she comes back
all painted blue and purrin’
wait for me again to turn the corner
from the side window like you did

and darlin’,
snuggle up against me
on that old bench seat
let’s listen to our song windows down
summer and hope blowing through our hair

talk to me like poetry
its essence of our love in your glance
and every word knows when to be
we can talk again ’til dawn
yeah, we can just drive all night long


3 Comments

s.a.d.ness

crocus abd bees 2012 001

Sunless skies, endless
grey clouded over grey crusted
snow, creating havoc for crocus shoots
struggling to make their stand.

Winter, a slow
death by its thousand windy cuts
and imperceptable emotional fade, now
so few words shared between them.

All purple and
orange in full bloom swathed across
front yard lawns stirring expectations, and
memories of their languid summer days.

Teal sky
days that start warm ending warmer,
their uninterrupted steady sun and their
sleeveless shirts and moist sweaty skin.

Sun, her kiss
once assured his unsteady heart. So many
purple and orange reasons to be hopeful but
March, always the cruel reminder.

written March 2013
revised FOR April 2013 :- /

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