Box of Dreams

Ah the beauty of age ~ when it’s time to retire

To catch up on all I have missed...

To have time now to read and to write if I like-

Pursue passions I’ve had to resist,

I’ve shortened the list of books to be read

It’s down to two hundred and seven

But the chances are this, that if I start today

I can finish after ten years in heaven

Bike tires gone flat ,that I will now fix

I’ll soon again fill it with air

But the air that is gone is my own I soon find,

And it’s me not the bike, needs a spare .

How I’d love to have time to relax with a swim

But I couldn’t for reasons mundane-

I might have reached China and India too

Or washed up on the warm shores of Spain

Had I not missed the chance to paint or to sculpt

Though I’m not Picasso nor Moore

My work might have been on the walls of museums,

And my sculpture right there on the floor

Instead I had children, in four years had four

Changed diapers, cooked, cleaned and read stories

Loved them and taught them-watched as they grew

Wear their medal in ‘Best Mom’ category

It’s a medal I cherish, wear proudly each day

Transcends diamonds,and silver and gold

My jewels are my children, my treasures of heart

Their love comforts me as I grow old.

I’ve forgotten the goal I once thought that was mine...

To have children and still have myself -

But today I have dusted and there way up high

Was my old box of dreams on a shelf.

Corrine HG Schlessel © 1997 MzSugah@aol.com

The Wayward Bird

While wayward birds of summer pass

through quiet air that autumn mourns,

enduring crows, great hawks and geese

scavenge withered fields of corn.

Now shortened days of sunlight shift,

turn time pressed nights to Indigo,

and lend the trees a forlorn look

that winds of time grant vertigo.

Mixed leaves of earthy colors fall

in stunning random disarray

they spin and weave a tapestry

of natures colorful display.

Soon chilled this earthly carpets spread

with natures threads of red and gold

and welcomes, ushers, mellow fall,

our harbinger of winter cold.

I watch beneath a dimming moon

as midnight nears and sleep impels,

hear sounds of rustling leaves no more,

replaced by ring of temple bells.

Beneath white calm, spring flowers rest,

hemlocks edge cold bridal gown,

squirrel, fox and graceful deer,

tread silently on frozen ground.

Eternal flow of parting years,

birthing harvest's pantomime;

sow cycles timed, each year precisely

repeating reaping winds of time.

This fertile earth once more shall warm

from sun and rains of each born spring

still there are seasons yet unspent,

that I, the wayward bird must wing.

chgSchlessel © 1997 MzSugah@aol.com

Who I am at Holloween

From down below near every tomb

You may think I’m in costume

But don’t be fooled at Halloween

Cause I wear it all the days between

Bloody color bold and clear

Is what I’ll be wearing every year

Two horns pointing to the moon

Yet to the sun in afternoon

I’ll gleefully run to and fro

Upon my toes from heat below

My heinous laugh will melt your bones

Too late your sins can’t be atoned

I’ll drag you down below with me

Can you guess what fiend

I be?

My tail is sharp and long and grasping

So watch you’re not one it’s clasping

I like my weaklings not too strong

I’ll take them home where they belong

So watch your step, stay on the level

Did you guess? you’re right...

The Devil!

Come dance with me and join the mirth

I live in hell beneath the earth

My britches burned so long ago

Yet still my cheeks have afterglow

I’ll serve you wine all night and day

Together we can go astray

I am the devil this is true

So watch your step

I’m after YOU!

corrine hg schlessel ©2004

DEMS AND DOES

The world is full of dems and does,

Of prima donnas and their beaus,

Of princely men who pick their nose

And gals with manicured red toes.

It’s filled with coffee lovers grinds,

Cigarette butts and makeup's slime;

Of men and women past their prime,

Primping , polishing all the time,

Dodging old aged paradigm.
It’s filled with vintage concubine,

With memories waxing asinine;

Of former lovers... dems and does;

Of ladies naturally wrinkled hose.
It’s filled with sagging cookie breasts

Dentured smiles and all the rest;

Shuffled walks and silver canes,

Flaccid flesh that now abstains.
It’s filled with windowed aging eyes

That hovering cloud of death defies.

The world is filled with dems and does

All were once Lotharios,

Princely men who picked their nose,

Gals with manicured red toes.
corrinehgSchlessel©2000