Soul Mates... (National Poetry Month #18)

He looked in to her eyes,

Cupping her chin in his hand;

"We share a soul."

She swooned.

Until there came the day

That she knew,

He had none of his own.

If it's Sunday...it must be haiku...(National Poetry Month #17)

Evil thoughts abound

Cruelist twist I've ever done

Dana will love it

.............

Slowly waking up

Lazy Sunday with no plans

Life is wonderful

............

Politicians speak

But nothing is really said

Do people notice?

..............

Sunday means haiku

Thoughts measured out by the beat

With no extra room

..........

Working on sonnets

Thirteen days left to write one

Rhyme patterns are hard.

Life.... (National Poetry Month #16)

Where there is sunshine and roses, 

There are bugs and thorns.

Where there is spring rain

There are mud puddles.

Where birds sing joyfully

There is poop on your car

Life is sunshine on your face,

With a sunburn on your nose.

Life is a walk in the woods,

With a mosquito bite on your leg.
Life is swimming in a lake,

Filled with ice cold water.

Rainbows need the rain.

Sweet offsets the bitter.

Happiness comes from the sorrow.

Sunrise follows the dark.

The calm craves the storm.

Perfection lies in the imperfect.

Inspiration...(National Poetry Month #15)

There! Quickly!

Did you see it?

Out of the corner of my eye.
Moving quickly.

Could you hear it?

Whispering.
Like a secret.

Just beyond my fingertips.

Almost caught it.
Just out of reach. 

Searching.

Listening.
Grasping.

Maybe tomorrow...

Bonus Haiku (National Poetry Month #14)

Dinosaur or bird?

Pterodactyl or heron?

Flight of fantasy.

............

It's not you. It's me.

She nodded in agreement.

It always had been.

.............

Rain after the sun.

A chill after the heat wave.

 Spring keeps us guessing.

Puzzling... (National Poetry Month #13)

She looked at the box

Then looked at what she had

Some of the earlier pieces weren't perfect

If she could go back and start again

Maybe they would be smoother

She mentally shuffled them around

Thought about moving a few to different places

Or maybe move them out of the picture all together

Then her puzzle would look like the picture

It would be closer to perfect

But when she looked at the box

Really looked at the picture of the puzzle

She realized that though it was smoother, more perfect

The problem was when you moved the pieces

It stopped looking like her

Reincarnation...(National Poetry Month #12)

When I come back I want to be a cat.

Graceful. Strong. Fierce.
Stalking a jungle.
Or sleeping on a couch.

Big or small. Lion, leopard, house.
I want to be a cat.

He smiled at her.
I cannot imagine what I would be.
Being here with you. This is all.

I believe I have reached the top.

This is my highest form.
My luckiest moment.

She smiled at him.
And then he saw,

She already was the cat. 

The gleam in her huntress eye.
The flash of fang at her lip.

And still he was content to be the mouse.