There is a boulder At the top of the mountain That holds it all together. Without this rock, No one could enjoy The vistas and views Of the valley below. When people and wild deer Set their feet on this boulder, It does not groan or shy away From it’s place. It holds it all […]
I get it now: In every human life There comes a time To come to grips with Reality. Did I imagine that I could hold on to Self-pity any longer? It is not a foundation For anything. So, in spite of my Grieving the fear That I thought Could hold me up, I now must
It’s that Wakin’ up — Even if it’s the afternoon — Kinda feeling. Where you are not Sure about somebody else And you sure As hades Aren’t sure about yourself. Gotta get up and go Anyway. Cuz’ it’s the day time And you know any day is The right time. So the gettin’ up morning
This morning When I woke up I could tell. Now, I can’t. It’s strange how quickly The senses change. ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2010, 2016 by muz4now, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Heavy winds have brought Winter’s cold to us in recent days. The chill hurtles through the trees And then through the trestles on our porch. It can pierce any cloth Or flesh blockade And so I feel it in my Skin and bones As I venture outside. Whenever I walk in this chill, I long
One of the things I noticed about you first Was the way you gazed in awestruck joy At beauty. I’m sure that others have this gift. I just had never noticed before you, In the way I saw it in you. And so often when I could not see the Beauty you saw, I would
It’s fabulous how everyone has their own sort of face. No two are the same. Even the mischievous twins That I hung out with childhood were easily told apart Once I knew them. And on each face, there is such a myriad of different Looks, Or “faces” as we so often call them. Grimace, grief,
It had been so long That I think I had Forgotten the benefits Of a lazy day. All the worry about The long lists of things To do And just the standard Bustle of daily living Left by the wayside For the simplicity Of lazing about. We truly are Worth a day Filled with this
Beads of chilled raindrops Rest and mingle on the Stepping stones outside Our door. They stick to shoes and The pads on the feet of the dog Where they wait for rugs and towels To wring them away. Winter rain is much like The tears shed in isolation: Moisture may collect and Even join together.
A pod at the end of the Winter-brittle twig Jostles in the morning Wind. Fragile and stalwart, It’s duty done, It hangs in seeming Repose and awaits The next moment of Transformation. It’s first change was Glorious: The day that its Silky sack Burst with the inner Seed. All decorated with fluff, They went their
