Sunrise (sketch)

Sunrise

In the stillness
Of the dark they spun,
Like ballerinas of nothingness.

And once they have begun,
They declare they'll never stop.
In my head their brazen voices chorus

And they dance, whirling
Before my eyes.
I sink to my knees, dizzy.

The shades, they laugh and smile
Down at me, a tiny figure overcome.
By these dreams fantastical.

A thread is pulled, but before I'm undone
I am freed to toss, and stir,
And as I wake, rises the sun.

Armadillos & Greyscale Photos.

ARMADILLO.

They sit, contented, and watch with mere-
Passing interest,
How intriguing! The sourceless rush of
Wishes and wants. As he

Snuffles over the dry leaves,
-As crackling parchment- and faded
Dreams.
Soft nose, flared, most and warm; he caresses.

The searching Armadillo, passing over
Them- inviting, his touch.
So met, only with mild curiosity,
And the wide-eyed acceptance, of they-

The Innocent. Pure of the wants-
The poison of wishes ungranted. And curious,
They touch. Ah, the rough skin –so perplexing-
A corrugated shield. Incomprehensible, the

Plated armour- of a grizzled Veteran.
Poor Armadillo,
Scarred. For there will always be chinks in armour-
The sly dig ‘tween overlapping plates.

Puzzled are they, by the Armadillo, so gentle,
They do not understand ‘scar’.
They, untouched, watch all bemused, as we-
With our dreams, yearn.

The Armadillo, he sleeps between them,
-In quiet contentment- at peace;
As we too watch -in passing interest-, but with
Envy.


-

Toes...

Toes,

My little camera & I went for a walk,

Swinging in it's case from the belt at my hip,

But my toes just touched the water,

Down past our little winding creek.
Willow strands to the little suncreek dip,

And I had no need to wander farther;

I had found it all right here.

-

PineCones...

The Pine Tree is ageing again,
Its needles fading, vibrancy waning like the folded grey skin,
Of a Grandmother's hands...

And the PineCones...
They crunched underfoot, and crackled in my palms,
Resting gently under the tired boughs...

Creaking gently in the windless air,
Dryer than the trickling sand, of a turning hourglass,
I quivered,

The fluttering seeds, rustling,
Disconnecting from their blooming, geometric cocoons,
Settled huskily.

And I am quiet.


-

A Thumb-Twiddle Fiddler-Riddle...

"If a scribble 'aint a scribble would the answer make you dribble if you asked it what is was when it wasn't?"

...mmm, I don't know either, but it popped into my head just now and had the pretty cadences of a riddle worth a scribble. Gotta love the "iddles" fun for when you're sitting at school idle, just pondering and wondering and staring at the table.

-

The Storyteller

Light a fire, sparks chase each

Other,

Wonder is twisted and imagination takes

Over.

Smoke of reality, watch it drift to the

Sky,

Let it curl though your fingers to whisper

Goodbye.

Joyless heart soars as a new thought is

Freed,

Buried in possibility like a just-planted

Seed.

See the watercolour dreams of a handwritten

Grace,

Far off starry lights burn softly in

Space.

You may open the door, but only peep

In,

This is the place where stories

Begin...

-

May your day be a riddle with an amusing twist!

Best of luck,

Leah Mae :)