Thursday, May 29, 2014

The Ballerina by sheila todd moon

Pink slippers twirl on and on,
While the woodpecker brainstorms
a morning hymn,
Daylight lifts her shoulders
past the dawn,
The ballerina has been drilling all night,
She flaunts her skirts like whirl pools
So fast and bright,
The ballerina spins on tips
Of a carnation,
She triumphs on her nimble toes,
The day fixes his eyes
in the mist fragile music,
The backstage doze off in the shadow,
There is no sound, no Africa next door,
Just the pauses for breath
And roses drifting
with a hiss to the floor.

Thursday, May 15, 2014


Eyes blink,
The wonder of happiness inside.
Sometimes tears well up,
upon the fists of anger.
Sweetly, eye brows protect,
Ashes through the closing of eye lids.
If eyes open, wide and round,
All views are safe, new, and solid like pound.
when eyes close tight, and still,
mind goes home for rest, on a green hill.
Eyes are like doors,
they lead you to another place.
Eyes are windows,
they show distanced world via reading or traveling.