Why is it that adults put So little importance on Their favorite color? There’s nothing to be Embarrassed about. It’s a simple attraction. Having them is like Having a tiny itch: We may be able to Analyze and learn Much from knowing Just why this is So intriguing to us. But this is as if […]
Entering into the forest at night, Far from the over-lighted, packed-in Huddles of civilization, The dark backdrop of sky is Riddled with stars. They look to me like an enclave Of individuals: each one vibrant (Even if not so bright) As the next; Their twinkling moments Often come in waves of Synchronicity. In other
I was the non-tall kid in my grade school And my stature has never really changed much In comparison with my peers. So each time I get a retail coffee, I ask For a “tall”, hoping beyond hope that Today will be the day. ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2011 by muz4now, inc. All
As the light changes with Evening, it invites My eyes to dim In harmony with it. Today, I accept The invitation and Go the way of a Setting sun. ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2011, 2017 by muz4now, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Dipping into our outer Edges of consciousness, The moon climbs up The mountain of darkness And creates a lamp To bring the night Into view. It does not question Its purpose as it Travels through this nightly Sojourn. And it does So whether it is Seen or hidden From our view. When it has no
However dark The early morning, I know that the Sun is coming. I wake. Anticipation’s door Opens into another Bountiful day. Sometimes, in the Darkness, I am not Yet sure what The bounty will be. And so I open my Eyes not knowing Yet exactly which Moment will bring The dawn. ~ by Stan Stewart
Beautiful: This poem Really Is “for” you. Yours is the One smile Guaranteed To bring out mine. Your request Is the one I cannot refuse. Your eyes The ones I long To gaze into When everything Else is placing Demands on me Or you. This is real. Really. ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2011
In Winter, Sunlight hangs vibrant Colors against Snow’s canvas. Momentarily, her artwork Takes up the whole sky And asks we humans to Bathe in the chilled glory. In our futile rushing about And failed multi-tasking, If we were — even for that Brisk moment — to respond Solely to her invitation, Something in us would
The inception of The dream Is rarely like Its ending. The dream Begins With the Dreamer. After starting, Everything is Up for grabs. Will the hero And the heroine Be everlasting? Or will they Even survive Until the final Curtain? I don’t need to Be the hero Or the survivalist. I only need to Live
Wind whistles trees, Caverns, Trestles, And houses along Its way. It carries its part well. It knows it by heart Or improvises; Carefree and winsome. Yes, I do think The wind makes up Its song as it goes Along. Not too many variations To my ear, at least. And yet never boring. Drifting in and
