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