The goddess Diana got caught in some trees,
A beautiful sliver of moon,
As fleeing Apollo she slipped to her knees.
Make Haste! The sun rises soon.
The sky slowly lightens as, twisting her veil,
The goddess at last breaks away
And flys to the west with a star at her side
In time to make room for the day.
A lovely cup
of tea
Is good for you and me,
But it tastes best
When there's a guest
Or two for company.
I tell my heartache
to the moon, reflected light,
mirror of the soul.
Queen
Me
I'm queen of the vacuum
and duster and floors;
I'm head of the household
when it comes to chores.
There's laundry and dishes
and oh! so much more.
(Dear God don't let anyone
come to the door!)
While making the beds
up I say,
Why do I bother each day
To tuck the sheets tight
Today when tonight
Once more they'll be disarrayed.
try,
All night long.
But in the morning I must sweep away,
cry,
All day long,
For now you cannot catch him.
Mr.Fly,
Please run along.
To keeping things tidy, you see.
Don't give me a test,
I'm challenged, at best,
Organizationally.
Silver strands, like
cobwebs in my mind,
Draped around the mem'ries of my past;
Gossamer threads surrounding all I find
With frames in which to hold the visions fast.
But look the other way, toward joy or sorrow,
Ask what the future holds in days to come,
And they will block my vision of tomorrow.
My destiny remains, alas, unknown.
Flesh and blood do not true sisters make
But hearts and minds aligned together do.
We've razed the walls between us to create
A stable bond, more loving and more true.
We cannot alter all the future holds,
Nor stay the mighty Author's potent hands,
But share we must each burden that unfolds
And reach, as sisters do, across our lands.
To talk, to laugh, to dream together we
Ignore so much our elders hold as dear,
Content to let what differences there be
evaporate, together with our fears.
I thank my Maker He saw fit to send
A sister, more importantly, a friend.
To watch the sun brighten the Eastern skies.
Morning brings promise as night slips away
And graciously yields itself to the day.
What would happen
if we called
the day the night, my friend?
The night would
be the day, of course,
and morning be day's end.
What if trees were
wet and blue
and water tall and green?
We'd climb the
lakes and rivers
and we'd sail upon the trees.
What if we could
dribble words
or kick them with our shoes?
Then we'd be reading
basketballs
and soccer balls for news.
Would it really
matter if we
called a skunk a rose?
Would you breathe
as deeply
of its scent or hold your nose?
And if our beers
were animals
like deer, say, or like minks?
Then we could say
we're hunting
and our wives could wear our drinks.