From the kitchen with morning light
Shining through the open window
The strong aroma drifts into the other room.
Follow my nose to the kitchen yonder,
To be greeted by crisp, soft, freshness
Coming out of an open hot oven.
She places the tray of fresh bakery
On cooling racks to cool down.
I eye them like a stray dog
Who has not eaten in days;
Mouthwatering from just the sight
Of seeing small round circle disks
With plenty of chocolate chips
Randomly dotted throughout its crunchy, soft center.
Have they cooled; they finally have.
I gently take one in my hand,
Slowly cradling it, like it is last one.
I take it slowly to my mouth
And taste the chocolate now like liquid
Gooey and rich, gather around with the crunchiness
Of a sugary tasty cookie now disappearing with every bite.
Light a spark and watch it grow.
Watch it grow in infinite ways.
Let it bounce from one end to another
Like atoms darting in and out.
They form from nothing,
Or like tree from a seed
They grow and grow with ease.
Thoughts are like a spark
Waiting, watching and growing.
From one small, tiny idea
They balloon into many
And they never stop growing,
But some shrink when they reach the top
And begin to fade like a lighted spark.
Like a lighted spark, let the thoughts grow,
Watch them grow in infinite ways.
The sheep are ready
And I am ready too
I am Zippy the herding dog
And I have a job to do.
I zip in and out among the sheep
Faster and faster I go
I gather them around
Nipping at their heels as I go.
I gather the flock of sheep
It is my job to do
My master gives me the whistles
I will follow faithful and true.
In and out I will weave
To make the sheep come together
To the far paddock we go
In the sheep will go to the fold.
Zippy the herder dog is my name
And herding sheep is my working game.
Like silent whispers he walks in,
No one notices among the crying in the room.
Silently he glides along to the place up front
As quietly as can be.
The sleek cover is open to look of what is inside.
Inside a man lies like on asleep
Upon cushions of the finest silk.
Eyes closed like on that is dreaming peacefully
Of good things that will finally come.
An old man who has seen many years come and go,
Whose gray hair had many stories that had been told.
A smile plastered on his face as someone
Carefree and happy to finally be at rest.
His nice suit is on, ready for a journey
That is yet to come.
The man looks down upon the sleeping old man,
What reflection he sees,
Is himself lying there peacefully dead,
Knowing now that it is him,
Who is ready to take the next journey over the bridge.
Fly into my heart on words
Of what can I say to you.
What words to describe your beauty,
Your love, your kindness in heart.
Words are stuck in my throat
To say to one so lovely like a white dove
On a Spring morning fluttering in the wind.
Oh, I adore you so much, my love,
That I cannot find the words to speak
To one as beautiful and fair as you.
My words I wish to speak,
Let the words fly from my heart
So you may hear my love to you.
Enfold myself in a blanket of warmth.
Cozy and comfy wrapped around my being.
I lie in my bed in a state of repose
The touch of the smooth blanket around me.
The whim to stay under another minute or two,
I don’t want to leave the bed too soon.
Tenaciously I want to hold on,
Fearing once I leave, the cold will begin to settle in.
I wrap myself tighter within the blanket,
Knowing the warmth will not leave me today.
But I must leave for today, for it is another day,
Of many plentiful things to do,
But, lo to leave the warmth of the blanket,
Is the hardest thing one can do.
I walk up slowly to the place.
A young child scary to death
To see someone in a coffin lying asleep,
Afraid to look upon one lying there peacefully,
Hoping they would not wake up for me.
I shake as I near, my head bow down,
I do not want to look, afraid to draw near.
My parents push me onward,
So I can say good bye,
But I do not lift my head as I want to edge on by.
I take one glance as I turn to leave,
I thought I saw movement there.
I shake my head and look again
But it was just my imagination coming into hand.
The race is on my friends.
The race that comes every four years.
With its millions of phone calls and TV ads each day,
The race is only half way done.
For weeks the race will try to win you
With talk and mail ads that keep on coming.
Be on your toes,
For the battle back and forth
Of who is right or wrong will be tough to decide.
The race is on my friends,
So keep sharp about the polling time to come.
The race is on my friends,
Thankfully we have to wait another four years
For another race to come again.
Oceania what names your wavy locks
That blow back in forth with
Ripples that part your hair
To see your face underneath.
Underneath the waves see
Freckles that glint like sand upon your face.
Your soul goes deep into darkness
Many depths below sea level.
Your eyes gaze into vastness
Of many miles wide of blue land you control.
You speak in a whisper
And then violently awake
With crashing and thrashing,
But the serene times are peacefully at best.
Gently you wash upon the Earth
At the peacefully time
Of a sun’s rays high above the sky.
Oh, Oceania what can one give
To be a part of you between your wavy locks
And the ripples that part your hair
Beneath your land so gleaming and blue.
Out on a dark early morning walk
A moon in the shape of a hook
Shines on through grayish clouds
As my dog and I briskly walk on by.
Stars with twinkling lights shine down
As the wind picks up whispering
That fall is now in the cool crisp air.
One step, two steps pick up the pace
To finish our twenty minute walk.
Around the bend and out of the curve
We are half way done with how well we sped.
As we finish our walk towards the end
The moon continues to shines its beams
Down on our early morning walk as we walk by.