Art, poetry, digital art, photography, criticism and essays.

10 Mar 2007


Was the vocabulary that I used quiet enough not to hurt?
Did shade trees perform amid the harsh rays?
Was there a meadow left within the mind?
How did she feel when fractions of wind blew across the afternoon?

In some lives there is never morning.
In her life, the branches against window pane threatened to splinter glass.
In my life, sunshine, even in the rain.
In our conversation, a mild mannered eternity.

We grow up again
We grow up despite our best intentions.
We grow up like pantomimes of what we've known.
We grow up remembering our parents.

Everything is a foreign country.
We keep arriving and trying to pull together pieces.
We are here, and it is sunny.
We are here, and nothing is the same.


  • At 4:41 am , Blogger eric kristopher rzepka, poetcube said...



  • At 8:08 am , Blogger carmen said...

    hi, sheila...a poem perfect...thank you.

    wind doesn't threaten mind
    learn how inside pane is not glass. In - the morning.
    We - a morning.
    We same. Up against.
    let's grow grow enough eternity.

    We blow the remembering enough


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