Late Nights

Late nights

spent working,

typing

and writing

my fingers to

the bone.

Eyes barely open

hardly paying attention 

to surrounding

activity.

I need to sleep.

Appreciation

Everything has a blue-green tinge
down here.
You would like it.
The trees here are tall and graceful,
but bear no fruit.
Instead, they wave in an invisible breeze,
green forms seeming to dance
in their groups of many thousands.
Everything has a dream-like quality
down here.
You would like it.
As I wander through the many mazes
of vibrant colors-
orange, blue, white, green, purple-
I often remember when
all was an adventure to us
and we'd take no thought
for the cost of travel
or what we did,
so long as there was something
new to see, new to know.
Everything is different
down here.
You would like it.
Few people tread the streets
and highways are rarely crowded.
Everything is beautiful
down here.
You would like it.

Watch the Sky

This morning 

I looked out

and saw 

a gray and 

cloudy sky.

"It's going to rain," 

I thought,

and pulled on 

my light jacket.

This afternoon

I looked out

and saw

beams of light

shining through

the dark curtains

like celestial rays

heralding angels.

Perhaps I was wrong.

This evening

I looked out

and saw

a ruby sun

settling in the 

western horizon.

"How beautiful,"

I thought,

and captured

the memory in 

my heart.

Tonight

I looked out

and saw

the first star rise.

I wished upon it

like a little 

child

and dreamed

of the heavens

singing.

The Rose

The rose bloomed yellow
in the spring.
So sweet and innocent
petals soft and fine.
The rose bloomed pink
in the summer.
Bright and vibrant
with petals
smooth to perfection.
The rose bloomed red
in the autumn.
Rich in color
and smelling of forgotten
days of sunshine.
The rose did not bloom
in the winter.
White flakes covered
the bed where it lay
sleeping, dreaming
of better days.

Magnifying Glass

On the city streets

rain pours down,

ushering flighty innocents

into drier shelters.

Behind the building's shadow

a dark form with

a trench coat and hat

waits.

A scream, a shout,

perhaps a few 

shots in the dark.

It all adds up to one thing:

a case.

And likely a good sum

of money on the side.

Some snooping,

investigating,

questioning,

finding.

Evidence.

A wild chase

through the rainy streets

ensues.

A small wound,

a slight pushing 

back of plans.

Healing, rest.

Planning, plotting.

Another scream, 

another shout.

Another shot in the dark.

Another chase,

this time with

silver bracelets

ready to clamp

with a key to match.

Iron bars,

pleading tears

coming from a beautiful

face;

uncommonly beautiful.

Shunning,

wailing,

cold eyes screaming

revenge.

Case closed.

For now.

Bloom Where You're Planted

In a barren desert it grew

So tall and proud and strong

Above the sandy dunes it grew

Till it was taller than my head.

With every year it grew and rose

Far more lofty than the rest

It was the prettiest thing I've ever known

And by far the very best.

Rainy Days

The sky is gray today.
My shoes are wet from rain.
Downtown streets have been abandoned.
Most people take shelter inside.
There is a steaming cup of cocoa on the table.
A fire gently roars in the furnace.
Beside me there is a book open to page 394.
Ink drips from a dipped quill.
Dark spots spread across a sheet of paper.
What shall I write?