To live in shadows doth chill the soul
and thus my invitation,
come with me to greet the morn.
Together, we shall find the sun
the light and sustenance for our way.
commentary
7th Floor Morning
The sun is a recluse today
exhausted from yesterday’s mirth,
dawn abandoned.
Grey blankets a rain-skewed world
as headlights appear
and disappear
through green wet treetops.
Windows shut tight
shades raised, not flapping
coffee brews and I wait,
staring through drips.
Time-deprived street-lights
shine their night-time faces,
as umbrellas bob through a labyrinth
of puddles on cement.
Tired eyes close, barely awake
I sense the city on a rainy morn.
Coffee gurgles, cars slosh through streets
and a wet flag clangs metal grommets
on its cold steel pole.
Looking Back, Looking On
What stories will you tell?
Tales shared from mouth to mind
or those visible in sepia tones.
The giant oak’s shade
comfort for so many,
bark rough hewn and silent.
If I leave this place,
will you remember?
Twenty-First Century Cattle Call
I was an Avon lady, in my very early days.
A diehard fan of the Bard that summer,
I fancied myself a Stratford woman.
Today? Well today, here I am.
Lounging in the sun, thirsty and hot
my blue rays turn them green
as I grab a dr. pepper,
antidote to drowsiness.
Stride-rite? But I lean left,
and still seek neverland.
I’ll choose to fly by Wendy’s
every time.
Kate spade dares my counter clubs
and I grimace as victoria’s secret
busts out everywhere.
Target? Not on my back.
The grammatically incorrect hermes
competes with christian dior.
Amen I say to that,
eyes wide shut.
I feel your pain,
branding seared into our hides.
lillian the home poet 