Short Story Collection

 

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Today, Tomorrow, Yesterday

Don't worry about tomorrow
or fret over the past,
because time is an illusion, like this life,
a fast breaking dawn over a vast hill-
one that you realize you've crossed too soon

You played the game; you ran the race
you made your money and built a house-
of vinyl and wood or brick and mortar.
Now, you've turned the corner and wondered:
Did I do all I could?

Yes, you did... or even if you didn't
it's of no worry because they cheated-
dropped you off at the bus stop
while they stripped away your livelihood.
Now, you've only your books, hobbies,
and a part time job. That's enough.

Don't worry if you didn't achieve all you could,
even if you only worked the grocery store checkout
or sat at the cubicle all your life.
In the end, what matters is did you smile?
Did you laugh? Did you make those amends
and clear your conscience? Nothing else is important.

Did you cry, did you scream and cheer;
did you call out the wrongs, make them right?
Did you tell that person you loved them-hated them?
That's all that matters now. Because life is slipping away,
like a ticking clock with each passing second inching
us nearer to the end. The rest is fluff... stuff we made up.

Image free for use from Pixabay.

Leaves

A nip, a chill, leaves trickle down
floating on chilly winds
to the once grassy hills, now rusty brown
The season of warmth, turns to gold and red, as
cheerfully, we wander amidst cold wind's threats

Free image from Pixabay, Rebekka D

Sliver of Night

It only takes a drop or two;
a dab of silver and gray to highlight the sky,
and my mind is illuminated with poetic lines

A curtain, a blanket, No!
Only a sliver of night and I am made
fully alive by the sounds of a howling moon

I pray for highlighted clouds
to make the rhymes aloud, then lull me to sleep~
the sleep of midnight’s eternal shroud

First published by Sudden Denoument

Image by Robert Karkowski from Pixabay

Music in the Heart

The beauty in music and creativity
is it owes no allegiance to any entity
Free to enter the minds of all,
and soothe what ails the troubled soul
No politics or ideologies needed,
just an open heart to absorb it freely

Image by Ri Butov from Pixabay

We Forgot

We blotted out their names- and why was that
when passionate insights, laid fame to their claims
through scribbled words and wild sparrows

A fount of verses, poured in
from half-baked minds,
high on nature and opium arrows
but still, words that hydrated the brain,
with philosophies of clouds, roads,
and the mad winks
of peculiar intellect.

Flooded with the pain of desire,
their words screamed in poetic inks
decorated in cursive lines, dipped in the lust
of celestial bodies- forgotten, by too many clicks,
though always there to make us think

Image free from Pixabay.

Night's Song

Where evening descends,
there's a quiver of mystery~
the tempting fever, to join in night's reverie

Moon sky- clouds drift lazily by;
in the moment, all around me seems to fade,
when, like magic, heavenly bodies explode across space

Stardust sprinkles down; causing the trees to smile,
like a child on Christmas morn'
while lightning bugs glow, among the sooty dark

Here I am in the midst of celestial mists,
and the creatures cries and coos;
to drift me off peacefully, into a dreaming fool

Originally Published in the Penwood Review, 2016