Hello My Sunny Girl

Hello my Sunny Girl . . .
my tasty sweet and wild girl. . .
you create the music
that makes my world
whirl like a top
and a dream . . .
there is a roaring
in the atmosphere . . .
somebody's moon is melting the slow ice . ..
and cold crisp water runs down
the walls of my blue prison . .
I remember the song you sang
on the day I first heard you . . .
but now my feet are cold
as winter grips them
in chains woven of tears . . .
and the black skies lower their bellies
to smother me . . .
my design is a tree
that grows me to you
my sunny girl . . .
waiting to be held
in strong branches . . .

##############

Royalty Free Music - Stock Music Library | Jamendo PRO

               This Beautiful Music:

                       Peaceful and quiet,
         floating in a still sky . . . 
                           weighted like a feather . . .
             drifting
                          silently by . . .
                                  Moved by the winds
             that blow o'er the night,
                          dreaming in the meadow
         beneath the starlit sky
                   The snow falls down around me,
                        a blanket smooth and bright
              the music fills the atmosphere
          with melodies like bells . . .
                                teardrops slowly falling
                 crystal daggers
                             in my blurring eyes . .

Somalia

Poem written in response to a picture in the NewYorker (December 14, 2009) regarding some of the issues of the failed state of Somalia:


The man stands reaching out
to his broken country. . .
the waves toss the boats
like sodden flakes upon the bloodied tides
and the villas are rotten
around the edges,
blurring their outlines
under the violent sun. . .


the man stretches his arm
toward his anguished country. . .
a handful of hope
falls to the rubbled floor
and the lonely trees
bend down to
an empty pool
while barren clouds mound high over his
empty stare . . .


the man reaching out
to his bleeding country. . .
and in his grasping hand
a burned out star,
around his burdened neck
an iron sword. . .  rank with the odor of copper
and the blackened holes
in the empty homes
go deep. . .
while all the boats float away
like horses in a sandy desert
passing by and never returning


The man reaches out
and beneath his touch
the crumbled dust.

##

I may choose to work on this poem a bit more - since I just wrote it - but I am terribly moved by such a country - especially since the school I teach in has a large number of refugees from that area. I am so sorry our world is such a harsh place. . .and the terrors and horrors that happen are more often than not of our own devising.

In the meantime - here is my Christmas playlist from Jamendo - enjoy!

I wrote this poem today as I looked at my Mac's desktop picture. I tend to get a little melancholic during this time of year. I miss my people, the ones gone to the other side, having a good time in that great place. I just get lonely I guess - but don't we all?

The old tracks are still dynamic
although
slivered and unused
but still pointing the way to go. . .

somewhere
beyond the vision of even the wisest eyes -
and the black tree limbs
punctuate the leaden sky
layered like a blanket
over the drowsy river.
Tucked between the rails
is a scarlet scarf
long forgotten by a passing waif,
and a blistered breeze
tucks the ends out of sight
while the sparrow lays down her head to cry.