Shaping Life

clay bobblehead
Blue, green, pink, peach, white
rectangular blocks of clay
sitting on your desk
beckoning to come alive.

It’s silent and dark,
the spotlight
is on you
as you peel back
the plastic
and knead the clay
over and over
in your palms
until the clay is soft
and your fingers hurt.

Slowly you shape
the legs, mold the torso,
add the shoes,
check the size,
make sure you’re satisfied.

Add the chest, mold the arms,
ensure it stands upright,
mix some pink, mix some white,
mix some yellow too,
now you have a skin-like peach
that works, that works for you.

Work your fingers, mold the face,
shape the nose, the ears, the eyes,
envision what you had envisioned
in your mind.

Take it, bake it, make it
come to life.  Draw the eyes,
add a smile, dot some hair,
add a spring, he’ll bobble,
glad to be here, glad to be alive.

 

Black Birds

Going on an evening stroll,
step by step,
swinging my arms,
twisting my torso,
loving the movement,
feeling the freedom,
listening to mellow melodies
of instrumentals.

I watch black birds
swirl in the sky,
flying in harmony,
dancing in rhythm
loving life,
living freely
in the pink-blue sky.

Cadillac

Tall and slender,
lots of curves,
buns of steel,
blue as the sky,
deep as the sea,
hopeful, bright,
and happy.

A golden interior,
leather seats
massaging my back,
caressing me.
Waiting in park,
waiting patiently.
Key to the engine,
key to his heart.

His every move
is my command.
Imagine,”
he sings
my favorite song.

Tap, tap, we drive
slowly, cautiously.
Over time, faster,
passionately.
Right turn, left turn,
U-turn, I turn.
We move in sync
to the traffic jam,
dancing in the moonlight.”

I light a cigarette,
the wind blows
my hair back.
His mirrored eyes
tell me how beautiful
I am.
While I’m lost
in thought,
he reads
my mind.
Green light, red light,
he knows to stop.

In hours of darkness,
he becomes my light.
When teardrops
block my vision,
he wipes away the rain.
When I become lost,
he’s my GPS.
In hours of sorrow,
he sings my song.

He takes me places
far away from here.
He sets me free
on the open highway,
under the star-filled sky.
He is “the wind
beneath my wings.

cadillac

Forever Creating

A crystal dewdrop twinkles in the sun
A little furry spider weaves his web.
He’s intertwining, overlapping; spins
and spins to make, to shape, and to create
a simple work of tranquil beauty. He’s

just like the painter with his brush in hand
and a white canvas before him, he will
create when inspiration strikes, but for
now, he will simply watch, observe the light
that dances on the haystacks, that plays in
your eyes, that surrounds you with warmth, the light
embraces nature with its touch. He smiles
and paints with pastel colors, gently, he
puts vivid images, visions from his
mind on to canvas. How serene, a work
of art. He paints and paints from day to night,
just watching the waves, the stars, the life that
goes by. He sees, he paints, and he creates.

Just like the writer with his special quill
pen, who puts words on paper, which brings things
to life. He writes and writes from dawn to dusk
of people, places, and weird events. He
shares heartfelt emotions, his joy and pain,
his dreams and hopes. He shares his fantasies;
he beckons words to come alive. He writes,
he types, he makes, he shapes, and he creates
through time and space, eternal, just like God.

forever creating
– Images taken from Google

A Jumble of Words

A jumble of words
in my mind
that don’t come together
in a rhyme.

Searching and searching
for that single theme,
struggling and struggling
for a rhyme scheme.

Looking and looking
for the meaning,
but the structure and style
seem to beguile me.

Trying hard
to sort it out,
nevertheless,
I still don’t know
what it’s about.

Metaphors and similes,
recordings of reality,
imagintation and fantasy,
emotions and expressions
of my creativity.

Just words on paper,
how hard could it be?
As you can read,
not very hard, indeed.

I Heard Him Making Love to His Guitar

I heard this song on the radio the other day in the car while driving to work, zoning out as usual.  The instrumental sounds somehow mesmerized me and I had to write a poem about it.

I heard him making love
to his guitar,
stroking the strings
gently,
rhythmically,
mesmerizing me
musically.

Whisperings words of love
through my ears,
his buttery voice
melted my heart,
touched my soul.

He was making love
in front of you and me
so beautifully,
so magically,
so lonely.

Stroking the strings
gently,
rhythmically,
missing her,
missing him,
forever dreaming
everlong…

He was making love
to his guitar,
stroking the strings
gently,
rhythmically,
his buttery voice
fills my ears,
soothing it.

I breathe
to his breath,
I dream
to his dream,
I feel, I see
his fingers
stroking
the strings
of his guitar.

He was making love
to you and me
musically.

And this was the song Everlong (the acoustic version)” by Foo Fighters.