As the rain pours down outside I am bothered by my past Foibles and long to move into My present without the pails full Of tears. I utter a prayer. Not really a repentance. I’ve done those and they are Sometimes overrated. Not really asking for anything, Either. Just saying what Really is True for […]
Some Will say their time has come And all else must be pushed out Of the way. Some Will be of the mentality that Everyone is here to serve them. I don’t adhere to their particular religion. For what else can it be called When they make it their whole life. When they make it
Allow me to explain: Living is ordinary and Extraordinary at the same time. Neither of these judgments About living are reason for fear or Dread or crushing push. The ordinary may be common-place, But it is not to be taken for granted. It is only considered by me (or by you) To be ordinary, because
Up, my heart, from Your drowsy, Winter-like Sleep. Now is the time to Mold the future! Up, You climb there — into The lap of gentleness Now. For tomorrow holds Gentleness to the side of You At best. This is not the Time for napping and For Yawns. This is the moment Of remembering who
There’s been a definite Chill in the air And judging by the melting Snow and ice, It looks like it’s time For a thaw. ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2011 by muz4now, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Grape Soda High school Hypothetical Sleep Emotional Expected Cynical More grapes Wine Excited Fabricated Factual Real Wake Surprise Passionate ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2011 by muz4now, Inc. All Rights Reserved. 117/1,000
It just takes a moment To upset the cart Or to put it ahead of The horse. Putting the horse in The proper harness Takes a bit longer. Go ahead. Try it out and you’ll see. And it will be well worth The wait, for the cart Upset Is of far less interest Than the
It’s not that we don’t Have worries, wonders and longings. It’s that we don’t know How to quell or fulfill them In a timely fashion. Oh, to be like a leaf on a tree. It has a clear purpose, But fulfills its destiny Without concern, stress Or self-absorbed disregard For all the other leaves In
A friend calls. I have news, but do not want To seem too pushy. I’m thinking — for some reason — that My news will Take over the conversation. And I’m thinking that would be sub-optimal. He’s a good friend And I’m glad to listen to His tales and questions. And then, he pauses. I
What if the poet has no words? What if the painter has no paints? What if the crafter has no glue And the musician, no song? Then, what would we call “art”? Would it be the way we decide on What ingredients to mix together In our meals? Or the timing of when to open
