(photo credit: imprm@countach.fm)
Whispering winds carry secrets
over sleepy city streets
gather and swirl
unsuspecting thoughts
Exhausted dwellers walk
through zombie days
focus on one foot
in front of the other
Up and down, over and under
air moves in stealth
a silent intruder
Scarves wrap against it
coats button it out
still it continues
growing
until it Howls
Use the talents you possess, for the woods
would be very silent if no birds sing
except the best.
– Henry Van Dyke
(internet photo)
Yahoo, yee-haw, yippee-ki-yay
another Stampede is underway.
The city is buzzing
with tourists from afar,
chuck wagons and horses continue to star.
Cowboy hats, and cowboy boots
two-step, stomp and dance to wee hours,
the midway offers spinning rides
and exotic food to devour.
It’s a great big party
for one and all,
Calgary’s Stampede –
better than a Game of Thrones ball.
(internet photo)
Noise.
Sounds and smells swirl.
A muddy pile
ready for trash can,
or possibly recycling.
Words recycle themselves
on the page,
powerless to escape
the strike of the pen.
Smooth ink flows.
A river confident in its strength,
its ability to carve landscapes,
reshape its borders.
Boundaries.
Fence posts to navigate.
Or, maybe, grab onto
if the water gets too rough.
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 