One does not need to write or read poetry to enjoy it. One does not need to go to the Opera to enjoy music. Or the Ballet for dance…
The great outdoors offers the best show available to anyone willing to sit and watch.
The changes surround us, the latest season is blossoming, petals swirling across a blue backdrop, rain drops will be bouncing at some time…all this being an overture to summer.
However, if by chance you really want to get some sounds under your skin…Appalachian Spring is my latest recommendation.
If you want the smell of old books drifting beneath your nose head off to a second hand thrift shop and browse thier book section on some sunny afternoon then head out to a local park bench, perchance the waterfront.
Funny…I really have no clue where I will be tomorrow. At least I have today. And I am okay.
So very okay. I write this poem for those who are not.
Homeless is a funny thing.
A fickle thing that bites
When snow is bent on barging into spring unnanounced.
Bridges call, these spaces
harboring faces forgotten, bounced
between dreams that spin like spokes
on bikes of summer.
Who has money? Crumbs of time…
Drums and rhyme permeate
This brain. Again.
And I wait for the rain.
My poncho, now torn,
No sleeping bag or tent,
My soul now bent on simply surviving.
Posted in 4th Street Live, Art, Dealing with Grief, Frankfort Avenue, Kentucky Blogs, Poetry, addictions, personal
