a bird is singing
its voice as clear as a flute
are the clouds clearing?
a bird is singing
its voice as clear as a flute
are the clouds clearing?
stretched across my bed
nose over one side, back paws
the other, dreich day
at the confluence
setting a new direction
on roiling waters
leaping up from bed
when the day starts with promise
things you want to do
winter trees ablaze
branches stark on flaming sky
one of nature’s tricks
throwing back the drapes
startled by dawn’s crimson blaze
a moment and gone
time to sit and watch
sunlit water on steel falls
a bronze fish leaping
the paper shredder
whispering a requiem
the visions we shared
hail stones clattering
tight faces behind drawn hoods
lean into the storm
a truck rumbling by
the mind snags, unfinished tasks
colliding with dreams
I dream so I write ..
“Wings are an illusive notion. Some may possess them, but they are not very visible, and as for me, there isn’t the least sign of a feather.” -Amy Carmichael
New Ideas, New Forms
Musings from an insignificant writer
14 hectares of thrills, spills and fun!
A Journal of Poetic Observations
Pictures and Poetry, Picture Poetry
My Journey on the Lonely Road to Deaf Acceptance
Ellen Grace Olinger