Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word Silhouette. To visit their fabulous site, please click on >>HERE I have not mentioned the word ‘Silhouette in my poem, but after sunset, the sky is covered in colourfull ‘silhouettes’.
The Horizon’s Encore (a Tank)
Half an hour after The sun’s disappearing act The horizon’s lights Refused to exit the stage When Twilight called out for more
This morning I had a dream. About flying north toward the sun and travelling beyond the Rocky Mountains, trees
On my way there, I dropped in to say hello to the moon And I asked the moon. “How do you cope when waning to that crescent shape?”
The moon smiled and wryly replied “Do not worry, my friend. It’s a crazy phase I’m going through.”
Amble – The Boy Who Flew Away Lyrics:
I’m standing staring at my feet I can feel the eyes on me Is that the boy who flew away I wonder, is he free I wonder, is he free
One will courage a handshake and smile And say ‘oh boy, it’s been a while’ Cheeks will turn, my ears will burn I’ll say ‘oh boy, it’s been a while’
Maybe flying was never my plan To leave and return an older man Have you ever thought You pushed me away I’m home now, with no place to stay I’m home now, with no place to stay
Luke talks about lost and found Maybe he meant found and lost On Sunday eve, we’ll kill a calf And deal with the family frost And deal with the family frost
Luck will fall and ice will thaw For the boy who drew the long straw Bridges mend, and time is your friend And home now will be Lán le Grá And home now will be Lán le Grá
Maybe flying was never my plan To leave and return and older man Have you ever thought You pushed me away I’m home now, with no place to stay I’m home now, with no place to stay
I’m standing staring at my feet I can feel the eyes on me I’m the boy who flew away The boy who’s longer free
Today’s Throwback Friday Poem is from July 2020, during the middle of the ‘Covid Era’, but I think my words could now be applied to the ‘Trump Era’
What Is Normal, My Son?
Breakfast and a hot cuppa Under my cosy verandah As per normal, if it’s not too chilly And I’m having my normal courtyard chat With my friends, Phillip the penguin And the wise old owl, Oscar We’re talking about the future Whether life will ever be normal again
Oscar quietly hoots “What is normal, my son?” Little Phillip chirped in “Normal is a state of mind A comfort zone in time Like swimming in the deep blue sea every day.” Oscar agreed with Phillip “Normal’s been perched in the same tree every night.” Oscar and Phillip grinned and nodded at each other And I listened and pondered
Smiling at my two furry companions I added, “Our old normal won’t be normal anymore.” Oscar’s brows lowered, and he said “As per normal these days We shall patiently try to adapt, then wait and see What colour will the new normal turn out to be Black, white, or green like the trees Maybe the striped yellow of our life-giving bees”
After the dawn’s cold frost Our morning walk was cool and crisp But the autumn sun was shining And we decided to head down to Pakington St Affectionally known as “Pako” A charming street with small rustic shops And abundant alfresco-style cafes We always go to our favourite venue The ‘doggie friendly’ Box Office Cafe
It’s a glorious autumn morning And here I am Standing in the middle Of my universe Between the bright sun to my right And the deft daytime moon on my left
Oh, I should say, east and west Because when I turn around To walk toward the north East and west are Here and there No matter the where
And the middle of my universe Is always here, like a wet-nurse For better or worse