The sky was an Azore blue
a rich and relaxing hue
the sunbathers
knew what to do
on such a fine day
they basked in the sun
and watched the children play
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Blue Sky
Tag: Poetry
A Featherly Touch
her hands were made for playing a piano
with long slender fingers
created to tease the piano keys
with willow wrists and firm hands
that moved with a life of their own
as she tickled the ivories
with magical musical memories
her feathery touch
reminiscent of a bird in flight
as she played throughout the night
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Down the Drain
dreams and aspirations
swirling down the drain
and bringing pain
the watcher looks on
in numb silence
looking for guidance
dejected and alone
when none appears
there’s tears
life’s challenges too harsh
he swirls down the drain
again and again…
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Nutty
I Walnut disappoint you
said the Pecan to the Cashew
here’s some nutty jokes for you:
What do elephants drink on vacation?
Peanut coladas in celebration
Why didn’t the Pecan go to the ballet?
It was playing the nutcracker that day!
What do squirrels eat at the fair?
A-corn dog in a bun
Why was the peanut butter upset at the retirement party?
He was roasted by a fellow employee!
What do you call a nut stuck to a wall?
A Walnut that won’t fall
How do you sum up a cashew?
In a nutshell or two
I have a pun, but I will nut-tella you!
said the almond to the cashew
I float like a butternut, sting like a bee
the chestnut said to the fruit tree
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The Last Match
The wind hammered down the narrow Sierra Nevada Mountain trail, followed by hail and then a blanket of snow as the man looked for somewhere safe to go…
he was covered by his old slicker poncho pulled over his sagging hat and leather clothes, a lone traveler who was nearly froze, but who was able to walk even though he couldn’t feel his toes……
when the snow stopped and the night crept up like a rattlesnake, the traveler had a decision to make, if he were to survive, he’d have to find shelter to stay alive…
when to his relief he found a small cave in the mountain’s side, an opportunity to get warm inside, where his biggest desire was to start a fire so the heat could get to his frozen feet…
he gathered some twigs and leaves off the dirt and knelt down while drawing a little cardboard box from his shirt, that to his horror only contained one match…
that he could feel and dimly see, a wooden key to warmth and being frostbite free, he sat there for what felt like an eternity, hesitant to see if the match would be able to relieve his misery…
holding the cardboard box on its side he took the match and let it slide across the rough surface and suddenly there was a spark, he lit the fire, and chased away the cold and the dark.
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Mountains With Secrets
majestic giants rising from the earth
mountains have pierced the skies
since their ancient birth
they all have secrets to tell
about human beings
seeking hell
in their dark interiors
in caves and tunnels
with craggy exteriors
but doorways nonetheless
to the nether regions
and the hot mess
of mankind’s myths
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Wordy
they say I’m too wordy
and maybe that’s so
words drip from my keyboard
and I never know where they’ll go
I try to paint with words
like Pablo Picasso
wordy me
I enjoy sharing
history
and a good mystery
with words in a row
like ducklings
that know where to go
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Growing Old
I still don’t recognize that old man in the mirror who stares back at me mockingly
I remind him that I’m still young… at heart
not some old warhorse pulling a cart
I’m still able to walk unaided by a cane
Froggie is still my knickname
in my mind’s eye
I see an entirely different guy
a basketball player and a fan
a very active young man
that stranger in the mirror
is vaguely familiar
a reflection of days past
that went by too fast
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At the End of the Road
My first steps were awkward down the path of life
as I tried to navigate through the strife
As the years loped past like a frightened antelope
I learned to cope
the trail widened in time
as I hit my prime
picking my path
and accepting the aftermath
to stay on the trail
and prevail
but old age slows me down
keeping me closer to the ground
at the crossroad
near the end of the road
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I Just Want to Be
I want to be the next Gary Larson and exist on The Far Side
of the moon
I want to be the young Paul McCartney
and have all the ladies swoon over me
I want to be Lawrence Ferlinghetti
and reinvent poetry
I want to be like John Candy
and make people laugh until they pee!
I want to be Peter Lorre starring in a movie
that’s a classic mystery
I want to be P.T. Barnum making history
with his revolutionary use of publicity
I want to be Howard Hughes known for his eccentricity
and living on the periphery
Most of all
I just want to be
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The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 