I’ve been writing poetry a lot in the last few weeks, and I figured I’d share some of it with you. I’m not a poet by any means, but sometimes a poem is better than a whinny post to all of you, lol.


Shall I drift back to sleep today,

To while the hours away?

Perhaps I’ll stay in bed,

and rest my tired head.

But the sun is up, and the birds are out.

Maybe I’ll just float off to sleep, like a trout.

Oh! But hear the song of the finch!

Wake me up, I need a pinch!

Now I’m up; don’t delay!

I must be off, time to play!


Here, also, is a description I did of the morning I wrote the poem above.

The morning rings forth with the pre-historic trill of some unseen bird. A soft hum pervades everything, as golden orbs flit through the air. One rushes over, and lands on a flower nearby. It a honey bee. She crawls over the flowers face, searching for its throat. The morning sun’s rays rush through the clear air and light up the bee with a golden halo. She inserts her head into the flowers open maw, fearless of its dazzling jaws. A moment passes, and she extracts herself from its reach and flies off, becoming a golden orb of light once more.

As the sun rises, the air warms, and more orbs take to the sky. A pair of hummingbirds chase each other angrily, fighting to defend their territory. One chases the other off, and returns to sing his victory to the world. He hovers above the yard for a moment, then departs in search of food.



When the river floods, it feeds the ocean more.

Even though it fed it yesterday, and the day before.

The rain feeds them both, sometimes while they’re sleeping.

It’s best to watch them, while your tea is steeping.


The Golden Heart

There was a man whose hair was long and flowing.

Whose heart was gold, and often glowing.

He lost his way, and went astray,

and his golden heart lost its shine.

He asked the crow, who did not know,

if it would show him his path.

The crow, she cackled, and set him a riddle,

and stood him by the spath.

His heart turned to stone,

And he so far from home,

The man began to cry.

He knew not the answer,

But the question was like cancer,

So he composed himself to try.

“Try you may, but not today,

For my time is up, I must go sup.”

Laughed the crow.

The man grew stern, and did not learn,

That patience was the answer to the riddle.

He’s lost his way, and gone astray,

And his only friend is time.