Post by Mikepoet on Apr 16, 2004 16:55:04 GMT -5
The Warrior, the Saints and the princess
played the children’s game
of the good the bad and the spoiled little girl
each repented their own shame.
The bad, he was the Warrior
such a confused little boy
with methods of madness taught to him
he was better not to employ.
The Saints, preacher’s sons, were half brothers
though they had different Moms they loved one another.
They studied the Bible but rules were pliable
they dressed alike brotherly love mirrored each other.
The spoiled little girl was a Princess
she knew she would be a Queen.
She was as colorful as a Butterfly
as bright and pretty as a Childs daydreams.
Their houses wee side by side
on the odd side of the street.
Saints and Warriors protecting princess
was a vision of innocence sweet.
Each morning they met at daycare
they had gone to since pre-k
and here they would learn to read and write
a private elementary went to 2nd grade.
I hear children laughing in a daycare yard
Little girl giggles while running hard.
Another picks up a play phone
Yelling ding a ling.
Little boy picks up and he starts to sing.
In the corner stuffed dog lies still
Sewn on his shirt was the word chill.
He see’s changes from day to day
In vocabulary and the games the play.
Chill the stuffed dog never gets in the way.
Now here I need to and have played with the artist little girl needing her tonsils out so she tells Chill her prob. He would be the mascot of this daycare. The Chill the stuffed dog thing is old but would fit here, I wrote it in late 80’s. Been trying to fit it somewhere, this might work.
I would have to bring the stuffed dog to life though. It could work I promise..
I thought of starting at the hospital and will use that if this does not work..Thank you.
Iradescent convalesence
She giggles as she makes handprints.
One of blue then one of green.
She's an artistic little six year old,
full of hopes and dreams.
She finds her healing in painting. Messy fingers smear messy clothes.
With thumb on chin she chances angles.
And gets paint right on her nose.
She hears the nurse say medicine,
but she's fixed right where she stands.
A hand on hip, the other motions.
While fingertip art is planned.
The nurses will not bother her,
they'll wait bye till she is done.
Even her freinds, they all know.
Let her paint once she's begun.
Nothing exists but this moment
of arts healing colors is true.
A memory stored for just the right time
picture perfect thoughts painted pains undo.
Sunrise as a Butterfly
She sighs closes her eyes,
she sees butterflies.
Colorful wings
she wants one to hold. .
What would it be like
to be a butterfly?
Viewing life’s beauty,
as beauty unfolds.
To sit on the pedal.
of a Lilac,
a vision gift,
from times of old.
A shining image
of gathered water.
Reflecting softly in a,
morning dewrdrops lobe.
Behind her eyes
she sees pictures.
A rainbows array
of colors and hues.
She mixes paint,
Till she’s content,
That the color she’s made
is just the right blue?
Then she mixes the
Color of a flower,
Purples and mauves
in a butterflies view.
And she paints the
Reflection of sunrise.
That the butterfly see’s
on the morning dew.
To taste morning
A beautiful morn,
In all its glory,
Sunlight soft patches in,
blades of grass,
laden with dewdrops,
she sees as they bend.
As the sun gets higher,
dew evaporates,
and these blades do rise,
she hurriedly lands,
before its too late,
to taste morning as a butterfly.
This is the begnning of the story of poems about Iradescent convalescence. The Princess is an Artist. The Warrior is a Poet not sure about the SAints yet.
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