The Night Sounds Like a Murder

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The Night Sounds Like a Murder

The night sounds like a murder
or maybe it is just my fear
that what I thought was the worst
is only the beginning of 
the time of terrors

I wonder about the stillness of night
who is out there planning revolution
how many guns are being purchased
by people who stole the flag
and constitution

The night smells like a murder
do you smell the fires burning
see flame tongues dance in the dark
know they inch closer to my door
I hear the crackle

Yes America breaks my heart
I should say it has broken my soul
evil laughs arise from old white men
as they set fire to all that is sacred
behind closed doors

The night sounds like a murder
or maybe it is just my fear
perhaps it is a bad dream
and I will awaken soon to find
that all is fine -- I pray.

This poem is shared with What's Going On? for Susan's prompt - "Revolution."

Praise Our World

 Praise Our World

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise the memories of Thanksgivings past,
times when family got together.
Memories of mother's turkey, dressing,
cranberries, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie.
Praise the way the way we laughed together,
unaware these times were not infinite.

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise the memories of winters long past,
shoveling snow before there were snow blowers.
Memories of building snowmen and snow forts,
skating New Years Eve at the city skating rink.
Praise sledding down hills in the nearby golf course,
unaware these times were not infinite.

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise the memories we make today,
the windy November walks along the forest path.
Memories of delectable meals, conversations enjoyed,
plans made, poetry written, books read.
Praise sitting covered by a warm flannel blanket,
unaware these times are not infinite.

Praise our crazy fallen world.
It is all we have, and we have to live.
Praise all the wonderful memories
we cherish today.

*****

This is written for Sumana's prompt at What's Going On? ---Memory/Remembering.

And wishing anyone in the United States a "Happy Thanksgiving."

I Love

I Love

I love singing in a car,
listening to guitar,
the patter of rain, champagne.

I love the chime of a bell,
a graceful gazelle,
eagle soaring overhead, red.

And I love you too.

I love the sky just after dawn,
deer scampering on the lawn,
the dance of falling leaves, cheese.

I love the gentle waterfall,
a stroll through the mall,
a pleasant dream, ice cream.

And I love you too.

I love hikes through the park,
candles in the dark,
wooly warm clothes, a rose.

I love a puppy's soft fur,
a kitten's gentle purr,
Rainbow in the sky, and pie.

And I love you too

I love friends who make me laugh,
counting spots on a giraffe,
Books of poetry, a tree.

I love a festive family meal,
a conversation that feels real,
pizza served hot, an instant pot.

And I love you too.

Written for my prompt at What's Going On? --- I Love.

Autumn Day in Grant Park

 Autumn Day in Grant Park

One last time we walk the tree-lined path
in Grant Park on the shores of Lake Michigan
where many are already bare, but some are still
robed in brilliant colors of yellow and orange.

How many days before the stragglers fall?
How many days before winter,
before all are shades of brown and gray?
How many years before I die?

Along the path someone always writes
a Bible passage in blue chalk making
sure to note that it comes from the KJV.
I suppose everyone needs their  mission.

I remember our summer visits to Grant Park,
warm-day picnics overlooking the lake.
Two months ago all was green and warm,
each season has its beauty when we look.

Every path leads somewhere,
the squirrels scamper in every season,
as do we, every path leads somewhere.
We just have to find out where.

One squirrel scampers on an electric wire
from one side of the road to another
I marvel at its fearless balance and ingenuity
as it traverses such a danger-fraught route.

One last time we walk the tree-lined path
in Grant Park on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Every path leads somewhere, and like the squirrel
we somehow manage to find our way.

This was written for Sherry's prompt at What's Going On? --- "Walking in Earth Shoes."