It's not just because
I love getting letters
A mailbox, attached
To an errant wall, just
Outside your apartment,
Is a truly special thing
Private in the way the
U.S.P.S. can never be,
Communication from
Here to anywhere, to
Me, is just ours. I can
Imagine the wriiten
Pages, sealed and then
Addressed, dropped
In that singular box.
They would be love
Letters, they would be
Secret missives, they
Would be private, ours.
The sun creates both sunlight
And shadow each an inverse
Of the other. It's shadows that
Seem the stronger one, written
On the granite face of the walk.
Elusive markings dependent on
Time of day position of the sun
Where they fall they also lead as
If they were breadcrumbs in a
Tale of Hansel or Gretel in their
Escape from a witch who only
Wants to fatten them, her cook
Pot awaiting the moment; they
Awaiting the run-for-it that sets
Them free. Shadows in a forest,
Following the crumbs that birds
Have messed on the way home.
Out of the shadows into the light.
Our personal juices
Teasing through our
Veins. We are giddy.
Floral scents and that
Chaos of color makes
Us flighty as a puppy
Chasing butterflies.
It's spring; we crave
Love but more than
That. We're unreliable.
It's spring. Our blood
Is pumped for and
Primed. Renewal is
A reward, a privilege
Magic in the skies. This is
How it feels to be primitive
Man overawed by an event
We can't explain even when
Science parses phenomena
There is mystery in the sun
It feels brighter, brilliant and
Wonderous, it sits awaiting
Its meeting with the moon
It sparkles a rainbow into
My glass, the light dancing
Dancing lightly yet it feels
So very still, quiet. Waiting
Every day, not ordinary, not
Everyday. Make more of what
You've got. Days are a gift to
Treasure and enjoy. It's always
A new day that dawns, even
When it feels like you've been
There before. Every day, not
Ordinary, it's extraordinary.
Who am I? I am not
Complaining, mind
You; just curious.
It's easy to wonder
When the world is
Spinning so fast, I
Can't catch up or
Catch my breath. I
Knew yesterday. I
Did; then one more
Revolution took me
(And it) to another
Place, a new level.
On this evening, I am beguiled
Shiny reflections off that big
Building in the Bronx. At least
I think it's in the Bronx. It is as
Bright as diamonds studded on
Every facet of the facade. I am
Puzzled, the windows here are
All lit. This is not the case in
The buildings closer to home.
Diamonds echo on the bridge.
It's dusk yet not dark enough.
It's a process in which I
Turn my everyday events,
Observations, thoughts
And opinions into poetry.
The diurnal into rhyme
Or at least rhythm and,
In my case, an occasional
Slant rhyme. Ordinary
Things into exceptional
Picturesque images. The
Usual into the unusual.
You know that all things
Are always extraordinary.
Celebrate the days, hours,
And always enjoy the awe
That time and rhyme can
Bring into our daily lives.
Tamara, really