Picture Poems

The Calm in the Storm

The wind howled and the weather gods roared,
The dark grey skies opened up and it poured.
Our coats were soaked,
The tips of our noses were cold.
Even my red beret shivered a little, as the old church bells tolled.

Our umbrella now looked like a broken branch,
Where was its strength and form?
We were far away now, from a place that would keep us safe and warm.
Just when we heard a kind voice that said,
“Come in, I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

The Calm in the Storm

Sing us your song,
Of the breeze ruffled daffodils,
Of the symphony of the chipping  sparrow,
And the cicada’s afternoon trills.
Sing us your song,
Of the handsome, black steed,
That galloped over the seven hills.

Sing us your song,
Of  old, run-down,
Cobblestone flour mills.
“Why aren’t you singing?”
Ask the keys of black and white.
“Do you worry that these motifs, maybe old and trite?

Do you worry?  Does it keep you up some nights?
But, this is your music.
This is your honest art.
You know the lyrics and notes
You know them all, by heart.

If people roll their eyes, snigger and scoff,
Just tell them,
There are some things,
You can never have enough of.

Daffodils and old flour mills,
Are not everyone’s cup of tea,
You sing for you.
And, I’ll sing for me.”