Stone Cold Sky

There's so much pressure on the

                                          baby's breathe blue sky.

To have all the answers-Everybody always looking up

                                           asking you Why?

How should You know, as if a cloud should care-

                                            wisps a front your steely blue glare.

Expecting a sign to calm our moody blues.

There are no strings attached, no installed lines,

                                              cables, or speaker phone...

Do we even know anyone is Home?

Hope floats, and bubbles burst like wish filled balloons;

In your hospitality, you incinerate for fun.

This weightless reasoning; a burden undone

Looking up sounds good-one cannot deny,

                                              and if I were to take a shot, I'd try.

How you'd answer I can fathom not-yet this one immense thing

                                              burning aglow inside-I'd like to know

if you could just throw me a line or show-

how long do I keep holding on

                                              to your alabaster air?

Image of painting by John Martin [Public domain], "Eve of the Deluge", 1840 via Wikimedia Commons.

A Spring in my step

Did you see how big the sky was today?
I took particular notice of her limber stretch
and wide grin
Happy and Light in forever blue

I happened by chance to be in a hurry
funny how these things grab you just then
On my way to Nowhere
more important than here

I'm not sure if I should guess
you have these strange long moments too
The air smells like hot Youth
and bottomless Freedom

The tempestuous whisper taps you on the shoulder
a sultry breeze murmurs something in your ear
about having fun
Shhh, your Time is not yet done

Like lust its so hard to refuse
a harmless offer to dance on air
or drown every pore
wrapped in blankets of flowing atmosphere

A smile sneaks up on your face hoping
you don't notice first or ruin it with thinking
Let it Ride at Full Speed Ahead
ringing and singing Hells Bells

I am suddenly parched
by this urge, or maybe a growth spurt
rapid blossoming
Now I understand wildflowers

There is no rhyme
or reason
just appreciating time
noticing I changed with the Season.


Image By Robbins, Ellen, 1828-1905 (artist); L. Prang & Co. (publisher) (Flickr: Wild Flowers No. 2) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.