How is it that you
can look into my eyes and
see strength and courage
But when I look in
the mirror all I see is
fear and cowardice?
It must be a trick
of the light and you’re seeing
your own reflection.
If I wear a cloak
of bravery, it’s because
you wrapped it ‘round me.
#236
Wake up now dreamer
leave your nightmare far behind
know that you are loved.
Wake up now dreamer
your life is waiting for you
to catch up to it.
Wake up now dreamer
bad dreams are not sticks or stones
they cannot hurt you.
Wake up now dreamer
always I’ve been by your side
always I will be.
#235
Gray day dawns dimly.
Shake off the darkness and wake,
the new day awaits.
#234
Bees that buzz and cats that purr
and tiny little hummingbirds
apparently forgot the words
to their respective songs.
Bees drone on as if demented
cats purr to show that they’re contented
hummingbirds hum without relenting
as they fly along.
I wonder what they all would say
if words replaced the noises they
generally make all day
instead of mantra mumblings.
I imagine that the bees
would sound much like Yosemite
Sam, in low obscenities,
growling and grumbling.
The cat, I’m seriously willing to bet,
would chant the language of Tibet,
his Zen-like trance enticing pets
from humans passing by.
And, finally, the little hummer
whose wings beat like a manic drummer
would complain that it’s a bummer
to work so hard to fly.
#233
Some flowers attract humming birds
and others attract bees
and some attract the airy butterflies.
I’d like to plant a flower bed,
not for aught of these,
but to attract the faeries fluttering by.
What flowers would a faerie like
and would they even grow here?
I’ve searched all my garden books in vain.
But if I were a faerie I’d
prefer the wild pink roses
to peonies all draggled in the rain.
I’d have a cloak of pussy willow,
a dress of coralroot,
and slippers from the wild blue columbine.
I’d not need imported blooms
to make a happy home
a thimbleberry bush would be just fine.
So keep your bees and butterflies
and keep your humming birds.
They’re lovely, but I’m off upon a quest
to find a faerie garden hidden
deep within the woods
and see a faerie’s wild flower nest.
#232
Perfect days are few and many
depending on the view and any
baggage we imbue them with
and the colour of our glasses.
Perfect days are many and few
particularly when we cue
our reactions to the clues
purported by the masses.
So take the many and lose the few
like lucky pennies ‘neath your shoe
Perfect days are point of view
and too easily forgot.
Yes, lose the few and take the many
the way is strewn with diamonds when we
look at life anew perfection’s
easier than we thought.
#231
Past and future are
delusion and illusion.
Only now exists.
Open the present
life gives you each day before
it becomes the past.
Why hunger for more
when today is on your plate,
an endless buffet.
#230
I rose this morn with a silly song
wending through my noggin’.
It echoed ‘round, lobe to lobe,
my memory all a’joggin’.
and Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
was the absurd refrain.
Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
bouncing ‘round my brain.
Now I like dill and dumplings too
as much as anyone
But can’t imagine why I’d think
to put them in a song!
and Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
was the crazy chorus
Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
the words do nothing for us
but confuse the questions, like
why are the dumplings free?
and why can’t I recall the verse
or what it means to me?
Oh Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
I’m doomed to sing the rhyme
Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
if I sing it enough times
Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
you’ll catch the contagion
Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
in your imagination.
Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
tomorrow, the ditty spreads
and Dilly Dilly Dumpling Free
will be echoing in your heads!
#229
Birds fly away
bears defend
‘possoms play dead
and chameleons blend.
I have no wings,
I am not strong,
I fidget too much
to play dead long.
So I guess I’ll blend
but please don’t blab it,
I’m over here disguised
as a filing cabinet.
#228
She is so sick
of shades of gray
She thinks she’ll dye
her hair today.
She asks his help
to reach behind
and he says sure,
he doesn’t mind.
His hands are firm
but something trickles
around her neck
and starts to tickle.
He squeezes hard
on the jar of dye
till there’s nothing left
that can be applied.
half an hour later
he helps her rinse
he holds her head
over the sink
Dying is messy
and so quick to fade
He hates the smell
but loves the lady.
#227
Linda Studley 