Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Solitude in my Soul

Painter of words, painter of rocks.
I have been called both.
People have asked many times
Why I have chosen this path.
I’ve wondered also knowing that
My sketches tell stories
And my paintings cry out for recognition.
When I walk travel like so much paint
On my tray, trying to make a splash
Reaching an audience that clamors.
I look inward searching for my own solitude.
I try to fit in and mingle with the masses.
A peace surrounds me when I’m alone that words
On paper or a brush and paint
Doesn’t bring to life.

Mary Bone

Workers Write

Workers write
Workers unite.
Sometimes heavy,
sometimes light.
Nails in my shoes,
Has me singing the blues.
An ordinary magnet wouldn’t do.
With a rake in my hand,
My face turns a different hue-
Because I’m a part
Of the clean up crew.

Mary Bone

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...