The Swing Monologue

sway
SWing awAY
their souls’ clandestine

play

the PLace, the dAY
like they have never been

Swing
the SWeetest thING
that she has never seen

Swing
SWear and sING
the song they only know

Fly
FLowers and skY
the high and the meadow

Blow
the BLack and the yellOW
the friend and the foe

Image

 

To a Memory of a Summer’s Ray

She walked past the shadowy glasses

Reflecting the the eyes of the cloudless sky

She waited for a face that would bring her back

To a memory of a summer’s ray

To a look she met from hundreds of days

He probably must have already written on the air

That look perhaps, or surely

She doesn’t really know

She looked down to her  feet asking where to go

The familiar aroma greeted her instead

That fragrance that brings hundreds of reminiscence

That which whispers her to invite a pen, a paper and a wandering mind

To talk over cups and cups wandering thoughts

Chamomile tea sounds  appropriate for the moment

She closed her eyes as she sipped

The taste of nature right in her senses

Her eyes open with a wish to see a sign of him

The office workers chatting with fellows and some pages

She sits back

And begins to see him

in a poem.

Photo2562

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