The sea, ..........Don't you hear it? That primitive, contemporary, futuristic beat .........Of that waves resounds in the minds ear for eternity It's peace and calm, ........Heals the wounded soul Its fury .......Lives for the fight to survive in man The sea, .......Don't you hear it? Inviting one to live, .......Challenging one to survive..... ~ Judith …
Time is always speeding past us. Always moving forward and going on whether we like it or not. Anniversaries and birthdays come... And often we come up with elaborate ways to celebrate them. In my case, I love to plan and then life does it thing and the plans go to waste because there is …
It was good, genuine people, bad times, too few words too many emotions that broke the world we made loved thrived in It was good people
No poetry today No lyrical musings on life's quandaries No alliteration or clever meter No inspiration demanding to be heard Begging, Pleading for release Just a blank page disappearing With a click and a clack A snap and a tap
Sometimes the Strong need the reassurance the arms to see them through Someone to take the burden Just for a little while.. just for a little while Someone to come to the rescue just once, just once or maybe just one more time.
When I was a wee rosebud a teacher introduced me to Shel Silverstein and his marvelously lyrical and whimsical poems. The poem Where the Sidewalks Ends has always captivated me. The first community that I remember living in was Burke Centre, outside Washington, D.C., an ambiguous region known as NOVA. The sidewalks went on for miles and …
Piles of soles some with laces other just slipped off pushed off to the side cast away waiting for their vessels who shuffled away long ago Piles of souls left wondering why
I am not sure how other poets write or what compels to write poetry versus prose. What I do know is that virtual all everything I write begins with a line or a partial line. Sometimes images accompany the words. My latest poem - We are ... began in such a way. A good …
We are all too old for bullshit No matter what the calendar reads We are all to old for excuses No matter what the secrets be We are all too old For holidng back When desire calls for fear of losing that which is already gone
Blessed with a new beginning Each time the sun rises Forgiveness is my new virtue Not for all, but some Those no longer bound free to step into the light Dealing and feeling into order to heal...
Lucinda Rose 