The Words
shift
like sliding, overcast
shades of gray,
dark and forbidding
and then the break.
The apple of Apollo’s eye
turns golden
and The Words shift like
rippling waves
of green
in the
windblown grass.
They feel better,
freer,
like bare feet
wriggling toes in the soil.
The Words grow
taller, stronger,
happier
They spill out energetically
like
tossed dice,
for all to see and hear
loaded
with life.
© Alfred W. Smith Jr
The fortune cookie
sits untouched inside the bag
scared of the future
© Alfred W. Smith Jr
We are
reincarnated
and
nobody cares
again
© Alfred W. Smith Jr
the sun, descending
glimmers
dully
on the pond
the animals
have long since
gone
and the
stillness
surrounds,
pervades,
prevails
all around
and
I
a solitary man
in the midst
of
all this
stillness
sit
like a
timeless
forgotten
god…
still
© Alfred W. Smith Jr
If you could
hold a handful
of
stars
what would you do with them?
puff them away
like
dandelions fluff
and make
random wishes?
toss & scatter them
like
silver coins
into the
sea?
make clusters of them
spin
like
pinwheels?
or let them
slowly slip
through your
fingers
spilling them
back into
the sky?
If you could
hold a handful
of
stars
what would you do with them?
© Alfred W. Smith Jr
Beyond Panic 