by Thomas E. Squiers
All rights reserved.
As the Saturday morning sun appeared
and my body began to wake
I stretched, I yawned, I got out of bed
the morning coffee I did partake
As part of my morning ritual
I opened the blinds over the kitchen sink
And beheld a scene I had waited for
my eyed did not even blink
There, in the back yard, on the ground
were those little, yellow flowers
Some call them weeds - I saw them as hope
of Spring's forthcoming showers
I have always taken great delight
in viewing these tiny gems
They stay very close the earth
for they barely have any stems
They remind me, as they pop up here and there,
of God's presence in the Land
Like a painter with a brush
dobbing yellow dots by hand
After facing the scorn of Winter
it was a beautiful scene to see
These little, courageous flowers
looking back, joyfully, at me
As I peer out of the window
to the World beyond my sight
I can't help but hope others with stop
and gaze at these creatures in delight
“Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.” Charles Simic
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The Enemy
by Thomas E. Squiers
All rights reserved.
The ticking of the clock
All rights reserved.
The ticking of the clock
The barking of the dogs
The wind
-- all make themselves known
and I notice them all
wishing I could divert my attention elsewhere
Noise
It is everywhere today
And my mind seems magnetized
toward everything in its path
Escaping
For a moment I pretend
For a moment I am elsewhere
-- on an island with clear waters
and warmth on my body
and silence - Sweet Silence
The bipolar waves crash around me
I am paralyzed for a moment
I begin to sink
-- the waters are deep
I lack buoyancy
Alas! I begin to float up
Noise
It is everywhere today
And yet I work to escape it
knowing the day has an end
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