The red brick wall was old and cracked, but still was strong and active; all covered by a tough old Vine that made the wall its captive. Each year in Spring, the vine grew leaves of green and tiny flowers, a beauty even more when hit with April showers. Blue birds would join the Vine each year to do their season’s nesting, and live there till their newborn babes had finished all their testing; then off they’d fly into the sky in search of lofty places, with fondest memories of the Vine and all its many graces.
majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren
The bones are brittle as are the thoughts they crumble events of yesterdays that never happened things that happened not remembered today becomes another time faces and events mingle become a crazy quilt He sits and stares unaware of a
When a rose turns old petals fall but the rose bud remains and its beauty and fragrance leaves a lasting impression in our minds Sure the beauty and fragrance of a rose lasts but briefly but the rose garden goes
(1) In old time, Before the sun stopped circling around us; Before it started to work as a painter of our shadows and the shadow of time over place; Before it adopted the hobby to boil sand inside a vessel
Our dawn falls with smile falling blind What constructed me, out soaring mine All the insecurities that you have shed Chained my glory in your empty dread I saw your imperfection and every flaw Still I could not resist, the
Walking in mental fog, you become a swaying tree. In mistiness one becomes lonely like a blackbird. Hollyhocks would wait, till the sun comes out. December rain brings the gift― of sleet on lips. ————————————– Walking in mental fog, you