Poems
She still holds the night under the waves a lake can make.
She still keeps safe the dream of the moon.
A flower, a tree, or you and me, can’t be without the dark.
Too much of anything will kill you.
Someone tell the sun.
The moon shines back the light for you and me and love.
~ Wynn ~
If I could shut off the madness of others,
Think of the beauty I could say and sing
Without the ding-a-ling
punch of the run around
Shouts from the This Isn't Righters,
Whines From the That Is Wrongers.
So much sacred daylight spent surmounting
So many others’ amount to less echo tunnels.
Who has the time to clear their eyes
To soak in the sun, the moon, that lake,
And whatever the Hell Love is for?
~ Wynn ~
Dusk orange paints the silhouette yawn
Of a great blue heron atop a rock the drought announced.
Sailboats float the indigo under a great orange blue sky,
Slide the serene by the great grey bluebird.
Autumn wears an every-color shawl starved for green- envious of blue.
She fires orange at the sky, the heron, the slow blue bottomed boats.
But Indigo eats even autumn- though she spends her fire fast.
Nights come quick now. Nothing lasts faster now.
I should take a picture.
But what good are words if the world is only contour lines full of color?
What good is color without words to celebrate each hue?
How do we talk about the light without a language for the light?
How can you know what I see if you only see what we see?
The scene is worth a photograph.
Take my word for it.
~ Wynn ~
(:In your window:)
The Nuthatch.
Yup.
Yank.
Red Breasted, too.
Yup.
Yank. Yank.
A one note twisted baby bugle.
Yup.
Yank. Yank. Yank.
All day.
Yup.
All day.
Yank. Yank. Yank.
The Nuthatch
Yup. Yup. Yup.
With the Red Breast.
Yank. Yank. Yank.
(:In your window:)
~ Wynn ~