Oliver in Green

Oliver, blue eyes, looking forward

From a field of green;

Toward a future

Filled with promise,

And the love of his own queen.

His “Mom” became his royal line

The day that he was born.

And she’ll teach and

Preach and cuddle him,

‘Til all his gifts are formed.

Then, he will venture

Into the world;

Far from the day of his birth;

With blue eyes

Looking forward…

A man of

Humor, smiles and worth.

Dreams of Another Spring

Oh, yellow leaf,

Hang on to that bark;

Hang on to your remembered Spring

When you were born, green and supple.

Your yellows mirror the hot Summer sun,

Your reds the warm evenings;

The tender curl of your fingers

Reflect the caress of breezes.

Hang on through the fall;

Keep from falling,

For when you slide to the ground…

Winter is just a breath away,

Just a thought away,

Just a sigh away.

Gather your lovely yellow skirt

Before you sail away with my dreams

Of another Spring.

Mall Watcher

Sitting on my bench;

Found a place to rest my shopping bones;

I’m tired with only three stores under my belt.

In my bags are a decoration for the home, and two books;

in my hand is my coffee – all outward signs

that I’m allowed to be resting on this bench.

A dealership’s snazzy black truck has reeled in a few men and

even a three year old baby boy whose eyes lit up with his “Wow!”

at the dazzling black metal behemoth.

The love of trucks really must be genetic.

I see the already tall svelte beauty in her skyscraper shoes;

not quite the gear for trekking, but maybe for attracting

or tracking sweet young men.

A mom with five in tow – too many for one frazzled mom late in the afternoon;

and her brittle voice belies as much.

What are they here for?  Where is their Mecca?

Are there siren songs coming from each small store luring them farther downstream?

Is there a rainbow at the end, a prize or priceless words?

Or is the torrent of humanity too strong for them to buck the current?

Where oh where has my little girl gone?

Is she stuck in one of the eddies or is there a waterfall beyond my sight?

I write on;

my method of distraction and the words carry me away on thoughts beyond this space.  Examination done;

I probably just look like a lost manatee to those who pass me by.

Do they wonder who will come rescue me?

Do I belong to some young person in this vast abyss?

They have no idea.

I am happy in my little observation perch;

watching much like Jane Goodall watches

But instead of gorillas in the high Serengeti

I am watching all the movements of this urban race

they call “humankind”.