Tracks of a Wandering Mind

Poetry, stories and random thoughts from a wandering mind.

The storms of my night

At times my mind is a ship on calm waters,
A gentle breeze billowing the sails aloft,
Night’s settling red sky that pleases the sight
Of my soul as it captains me through my life.

Such are the times when I cherish my voyage
Through this world and dread to see my home port.
These are the days that I’ll strive to recall
When at last my ship is forever berthed.

But today’s not that day, red sky’s a’dawning
And a uniform flag is snapping atop.
A chill nor’easter is building within me
And the mercury of my spirit has dropped.

I’m tossed on a rough sea that now o’ercomes me
As waves of confusion crest over head.
The tiller is snapped and I’ve no way to guide
As I sail sightless through the storms of my night.

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May 30, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , | 2 Comments

Fields of Flowers

Written after I saw a shot of thousands of soldiers’ graves decorated with small American flags.

I walked along the park road,
Taking in the scents of spring.
I drew near an open field
And beheld a wondrous thing!

So many perfect flowers,
Gently nodding in the air,
Twenty thousand perfect blooms,
In the field were growing there.

A verdant plain of colors
All in blues and whites and reds,
So perfect and in order,
Shooting straight up from their beds.

As I drew near my heart ached,
And my will began to lag.
The blossoms made my tears flow,
For each flower was a flag.

May 26, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , , | 2 Comments

Ballerina Dancing

I was walking in town and stopped to watch a little girl dancing in her yard.  She was dressed in a ragged nylon and tulle outfit that had seen far better days and she danced with her eyes closed, as though there was no one else in the world.

Tiny ballerina, dancing princess,
Whirling and twirling across the green grass,
Blue eyes sparkle as she keeps her own time
To the music dancing in her mind.

Flaxen hair, rosy cheeks, pirouetting,
Hungering for the dance, cares forgetting,
Dressed in pink her ragged tulle on display,
Spinning in the sun, little coryphee!

Now the end of the dance draws to a close,
Reaching, stretching to the sky on her toes,
Breathless, tumbling to the earth without harm
Ballerina falls to her mother’s arms.

May 23, 2011 Posted by | Poetry | , , | Leave a comment

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