Tag Archives: eyes

Day 16 – The man from Trickum Street

The man from Trickum street
has never met a stranger.
Looks into their eyes, and the soul is revealed.
His eyes are dark, a mysterious brown,
his smile is easy, his hands warm.

The man from Trickum street
has never known a hardship,
for every challenge is a blessing,
every tragedy an opportunity,
every wound another chance to heal.

The man from Trickum street,
keeps time with a borrowed clock,
loaned by his grandfather when the old man died.
he flows with the chimes;
every half-turn a new journey in mind.

The man from Trickum street.
He knows the heart at a glance,
can only see the bright side of the glass,
lives contentedly on borrowed time,
and believes not in endings, but only beginnings.

 


So I think this one could use some work, especially the end, but it was fun to write, and decent enough that I could post it. I know I posted twice within a few minutes (If I miss a day I usually try to put two poems in one post), but those poems really needed to be posted separately. I don’t think my Woman of Color would have tolerated a man in her space.

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Un-blinking – Day 2

Today, instead of blinking,
I closed my eyes, and then briefly opened them.
Snapshots of this new-bloomed world
captured, they remain.

Quick beauty in the drifting dogwood.
Daffodil flashing to my right.
The bright above of a high blue sky,
a frantic flutter of young yellow wings.

Though, isn’t that just Spring?
A burst of sudden life and color,
the beauty of joy in youth,
the first steps in a dance of creation…

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This poem feels unfinished because it is, and because that’s the point. Happy Spring!

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Commentary – Day 18

My fingers tingle.
Funny, I don’t recall
falling asleep.
I’d say this was a daydream,
but all I see are small hours,
shown around by small hands.

In searching out the
tiny fine things,
have I lost sight of some
Bigger pictures? Or am I simply
putting together slowly
a multitude of jigsaw pieces
in this puzzle we call life?

Somewhere along the way
I looked over a rainbow
and forgot,
what joy there could be
in the crafting of a thing,
in making something well.

My hands are not
the only part of me which has
fallen asleep.
My heart beats slower with every
waking midnight minute
drowsy, lazy, blank and bored.

Don’t tell me it’s the chemistry.
My poor head would swoon and faint,
so long after nothing was said,
nothing got done.

My hands fall to the blank space,
my heart stirs the muse,
but my eyes drift and linger,
dream and, dreary, fade.
Can’t even see where one day
Begins and another


I know it’s late, but I had to do a good bit of soul searching to get to this point. Considering my current state of mood, I count the few decent lines in there an accomplishment. Anyway, it’s three-whatever in the morning and I don’t even know what I’m writing any more. Enjoy the nonsense 🙂

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