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| The Storm Today, I watched the storm clouds gather overhead, rushing across a pale grey sky. rushing faster and faster, chasing the vanishing sun. Today I know when a storm is coming; I simply read the clouds. Back then, I hadn't learned to read the clouds; couldn't see the approaching storm. Didn't look. Didn't want to see the clouds always hidden beyond the shadow of your smile. Your face revealing nothing, placid as a shallow lake on a perfect summer day. Eyes--shimmering blue and deep, shining and clear; not a ripple to mar the surface calm. But, there, way down deep and far beyond your crinkling smile it lurked--the shadow, the cloud, the first inkling of the storm brewing in the cauldron of your discontent. Yet, not a word nor sign was present. Then, without warning like a whirlwind, a tornado, a sudden hurricane--the storm erupted, full blown and devastating. Destroying, with absolute Ferocity and Finality, everything we had; everything I thought we had. If I had looked closer, seen what must surely have been there all along, I could have avoided the storm. Headed it off in some way. Built a barrier, battened down, been prepared. If only; if only. Should have known--even then--to watch the clouds; to read the signs. But being happy, I refused to think that anything as ominous as a shadow, certainly no cloud, could ever fall across our love. How silly to be so complacent. How stupid to be so secure. Next time I'll remember. I'll watch for shadows. Clouds. I'll be prepared. Or will I? |
| Love On Long Stems Valentines Day--here at last! She knows he'll come, ring her bell arms laden with love. Love on long stems, in heart-shaped sweets in flowing verse. Daylight fades quickly Hope lingers patiently Love is not here yet, but it's coming. It will come. he will come. He does come! Laden down with reasons apologies wilted roses, and watered-down love. Tears bloom in profusion roses die and love is a lie. |
| Writing in Rhyme Writing in rhyme is easy, you say, But all my ideas just flitter away I can't get them to line up in neat little rows They get tangled and jumbled and the rhythm won't flow I write it all down, then rip it all up, Tear out my hair and curse at the cat, The words have escaped me, forever to roam, How I wish I could find them and write me a poem. |
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