Roger Williams Plays

Roger Williams plays
as the days dwindle -
we search for kindling
and Oolong tea brews.
The leaves the hue of a barn fire
take a flyer and are tossed;
drift past the window
Roger Williams plays
trees sway in the breeze
pleased to be rid of molting 
vegetation in celebration.
Falling leaves of red
and gold embossed with
a time stamp to be trampled
and piled, hours wiled away -
kids at play. Roger Williams too.
Summer kisses forgotten,
hands sun-burned and gnarled
you went away, winter's song
plays. I miss you most darling
when Roger Williams plays.

© JPW - 2013

Poetry Jam - October

dVerse: Open Link Night #116

Leaving For the Fall

Held aloft

for a reason,

                     a season...

  a lifetime becomes shorter

the longer the days d 

         e 

          c 

      l

        i

                        n

                          e,

Winds adjudicate and extricate the greenery

which litter the scenery with browns and orange,

crimson, 

yellow... so many left to fend 

for in the end

leaves become languid and bitter.

Tossed about in flutters and wafts,

this once upon a greenery...

They litter the scenery.

© JPW – 2013

dVerse Poets Pub - OLN #115

Creative Curmudgeon

An artist is always alone.
His solitude possesses his soul.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

with a talent that is borrowed; on loan     
from He who has given control.
An artist is always alone.

He works secluded. No sound, no phone -
his worded madness will take its toll,
in silence, his muse seeps into his bones.

His hidden talents seemed to have grown
to lift him from this creative hole,
an artist is always alone.

Once his hermetic cover is blown
he’ll find his heart is bared to extol.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

so it is there he finds his “zone”,
inspired to prompt and cajole.
An artist is always alone.
In silence, his muse seeps into his bones

 © JPW – 2013

Margo Roby’s Wordgathering – Poem Tryouts: It’s Miller Time

dVerse - Poets Pub - OLN #114