Poetry

Wrapping my imported shawl tighter,
I tried to keep out the cold.
Still, it's icy fingers touched me,
and held me in a vice-like hold.

Hurrying along, I saw a little boy,
slowly walking down the street.
His teeth chattered, his body was blue,
for the cold crept up his bare feet.

The night is young,
The air is pure,
people are still gentle,
And I am not old.

The night is young,
I can still hear the music
My vibes are still alive
And I am not old.

Damn It, the weekend is over,

Took a stroll today on the island of water,

Green avenues hovering over the strollers,

Its never too late on the island of water.

Love As much as I try

-to know you

-to reach you,

the more distant I find you.

I look out the window,
I see the snow falling
My mind races back and forth-
Where are you my friend?

I watch the phone closely-
I walk around the room
Darkness envelopes me-
Where are you my friend?

Someday I will write a Poem for you…

through blurs of white blinds,
a numb black night, smeared in
droplets of street light, snow
and smoked grey from an old chimney,
reminds me of a place, I had lost in childhood...

It was a cold January night.
Heavy fog like an impervious shroud
Mist on the window pane,
and clippetty clop of the horse's shoes;
An unknown cobbled path.
Gusts of winter straining the heat -
snickering, treacherous liar.
A pair of oaks, old and stout, forming a canopy
tried in vain to stop it.
The liar said "Warmth misses you just as much."
"I can't feel my ears.", I said.
I shunned the liar, closed my eyes, clutching the reins,

Lets go for a drive, a long long drive
and drive through the night, through the rain.
Lets drive through all the roads we know,
the avenues we have driven before and
into the ones unknown;
ones we do not know where they intend,
but know for sure that have no dead end.
Lets tear the road apart till the clouds give up following us
and the full moon breaks free in a clear autumn sky.
Lets dry the beads of water off the waxed car body
till dawn breaks open the champagne of gold