Beside the Raging River Rhyme
Beside the raging river rhyme
poetry florets flower with prose.
Scripted sweet petals grow and entwine
English gardens of fragrant rose.
Immortalized in pantomime,
the sonnet's nuance smell,
intertwines with ivy vines
and comely cockleshell.
Flowing water of endless words
gather and come hither.
Make known your message meaningful
before the blossoms wither.
A Child Is Sweet Any Day Of The Week
A child that's born on a Monday
holds beauty in sight and mind.
A child that's born on a Tuesday
is graceful, sweet and kind.
A child that's born on a Wednesday
is a treasure, so they say.
A child that 's born on a Thursday
sees a quest with each new day.
A child that's born on a Friday
is loving and freely gives.
A child that's born on a Saturday
shows great work through how they live.
A child that's born on a Sunday
is happy, carefree and gay.
I guess you could say that a child is
special, no matter what the day.
September in my Mind
The smell of September fills the air
and dredges up memories once captured there.
The nip of daybreak, the moist, morning smell,
spurns forth memories from dormant dwell.
Frost capping the scape like fine sugar coat
ensures us of what time's compelled to denote.
Preserves boil away on the top of the stove,
plop, plopping with the riches retrieved from the grove.
The smell of apricot, cherry and pear,
sweet orange marmalade wafting the air,
thoughts of log fires and holiday cheer,
long awaited for a calendar year,
fills my soul and elicits thoughts tucked in my mind
as it wanders me back to a space in time.
As welcome as spring was, this changing of leaves
recounting to us what each one believes.
We rely on September filling the air to
remind every soul of what once lived there.
Childrens Book-I Have Seen The Wind
I have seen the wind through its invisibility
Sometimes I see the wind when it shows itself to me.
Sometimes the wind is brown and gritty and forms in twists and spires
Sometimes the wind is leafy greens and auburn reds on fire.
Sometimes the wind is snowy like- white and flaky in the sky.
And even once at the garbage dump it was papers passing by.
Once upon a summer day, the wind was new-mown lawn.
And on a drive in the countryside it was tumbleweeds tumbling along.
The wind is a chameleon, everchanging as it passes by.
Once in the spring it was a floating cascade of lilac petals in the sky.
The most beautiful sight was when the wind became a whirl of butterflies.
The wind flits through the air then falls to the ground and lies.
Yes, I have seen the chameleon wind and its ever-changing hues,
with the colors of the rainbow, will it show itself to you?