Manifestation
A dove descends
(like a dream made real)
to the puddle by the road.
Did you expect to find a miracle here?
Me neither.
Spirit transforms love
into a bird, feathers and all.
Maybe it means peace.
It probably means nothing.
One dove joined by another.
A pair.
Paradise.
photo by Pat Bean
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge)
Thoughts while shopping online.
Crayola
I read reviews for Crayola washable
markers, just want to color, not all that
creative.
I find out kids these days
color themselves, their clothes, their friends,
the walls.
If we’d tried that, my generation,
we would have been smacked all the way
into next week.
But things change. Things change.
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge)
Yeah, I seem to be writing a story told in verse as a succession of poems about these two guys …
Another Step Down the Road 
One foot in front of the other,
under dark sky as I seek.
The cold is becoming my lover
and hunger an enemy to cheat.
I set out in search of adventure,
escape from the burden of land,
freedom from all expectations,
and work I could take in my hand.
Instead I’ve been cold, wet and hungry.
I sleep under stars all alone.
Yet still open road’s voice will call me
while her breath leaves me chilled to the bone.
Here’s a companion poem to the one I posted yesterday:
Journey
Wanderer, wanderer where do you go,
all alone on the road when the wild winds blow?
Where did you come from and why did you leave,
who are the loved ones you left home to grieve?
Hunched in your cloak with your pack on your back,
bent almost double by the weather’s attack,
you pass by my hovel. I stare out at you. 
When will I ever bid loved ones adieu?
Held to a life of hard labor and toil,
grubbing for greens as I turn over soil,
I dream of far shores and adventures galore,
yet never will I set a foot out my door.
Cold Stone
Dirt and stone beneath my feet,
clouds and mist above me,
in my ears, the sheep’s high bleat.
Dear, I know you love me.
As I wander down the road
I leave you behind me,
standing in the field I hoed.
Shafts of sunlight blind me.
My way is long and dark, alone.
I won’t be returning.
Will our child remember, grown,
a father’s love so burning?
Yet I must this journey make
else my soul be fettered.
Your love you gave and I did take,
but it left me tethered.
This one is for my son, as he chose the prompt: dinosaurs. My first dinosaur poem.
DJ Rex
Stego Stomp
Come into the stomping ground
Best party to be found
DJ Rex will never fail
Every dino shake your tail
Through the valley we will romp
Time for the Stego Stomp
Clap your plates to the beat
Move all four of your feet
Stomp left, then stomp right
Jump up with all your might
Nose to the ground, tail in the air,
Wave that thing like you don’t care
Spin around, then grab a snack
(Making sure to watch your back)
Blast out a mighty roar
You are a dinosaur!
Ancestor Worship
The ghosts crowd around,
like shadows at 4 o’clock,
fragile as butterfly wings,
persistent as memory.
These shades are invisible,
seen only by me
in the span of your brow,
in the tenor of your temper.
Ancestors won’t leave me alone.
They thunder through my family,
Vikings on a rampage,
pillaging as they go.
Should I sharpen my axe
and join their company?
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge)
Defensive Driving Class
But the post jumps out
at me.
Surprise!
Headlight knocked out.
No real excuse.
Except that at 80
you do whatever the fuck
you want.
She’s earned it.
Earned it in spades.
Bonus: a discount
on the car insurance.
(1st Poetic Muselings Summer Poetry Challenge)
In class today,
Jeff said the essence of Tai Chi
is in the moves we make
at the start
Warm up spine,
hips, knees, ankles.
Engage finger tips
to explore the air
Bring moves
from core to skin
and back again
and again and again
Fill the space
between vertebrae
shoulder joints, tip of head
and soles of feet
Open, stretch, synchronize
nerves, mind, and heart.
Ah! Form gives meaning,
but embrace and savor foreplay!
Another contribution to the Poetic Muselings Poetry Challenge!
I recently survived an intensive sewing /clothing construction workshop, which got all synapses bouncing frantically in my head. Here are the first poems in the Sewing Series:
To reach the hidden,
and create the obvious,
I must feel what’s true
I must learn to love
vanilla, forgo Cherry Garcia
for a while
feel the fullness of the lone
acoustical note
reverberate into echo of echo
go back to the first
line dance step
that took so long to learn
back to basics
unadorned, Shaker-quality,
where the answer is found
crawl, then toddle through
imbalance, see, hear, smell
what surrounds me
when I understand
the woven thread
I’ll be ready for the wider world
Strip away the complex first,
sew straight lines and curves,
inch (or centimeter) along
To sleeves and swirls
Michele M. Graf7-17-14
My first contributions to our Poetic Muselings Poetry Challenge. Anne — this counts as two poems, right?
RoadWriter 