Poetry
Little Shadow
Your little shadow reminds me
The smallest things can grow
In the spring, through the summer
Then fading into fall and winter.
Life shifts and morphs.
It vegetates and blooms.
Like you,
My little sprout,
Born on the fifth of July,
You, who I cannot live without.
My darling little firefly,
You light up my dark sky,
Like fireworks on a warm summer night.
My sweet little shadow,
How you make me wonder
Why I ever feared the dark.
The Dark
What do babies dream of
When all is dark and quiet
When shadows loom and high in the sky
Hangs the moon
What do babies dream of
When a smile flitters across their face
Twitching like a butterfly’s wing
What do babies dream of
When they scream out in the night
Reaching for comfort, for solace
When someone forgot to turn on
Their night light
What do babies dream of?
Perhaps we’ll never know
But deep within the garden of their minds
Something dark buds and grows.
The Keeper
Beekeeper, holding in the buzz, the bees:
whirring burning flight, gold dark glory.
A few escape when she turns her cheek.
She turns her back, a swarm explodes.
They consume her in time, in number.
Patient beekeeper, the odds are against her.
Needles multiply and this straight jacket
traps the fury inside her honeycomb skin.
She keeps the madness going
in spite of all her sorrow.