Coming home late on night after a business trip I was locked out and had to wait for someone to bring me a key. As I sat on the porch I started listening to all the night sounds and this poem came from it:
At half past eleven…I am keeping an eye on…Over-stuffed, alabaster clouds…On a merry chase…Dancing nimbly on a backdrop of inky stained linen sky.A solitary brightening…From a lone-star on this balmy nigh.I enjoy the engagement of spring…Husky, endearing sounds of hope.Could it be possible?From where I sit.That peace-ness can reign supreme?Though off in the miserly distance…Staccato popping shatters the still.Aie! For a few seconds…Peace-ness was denied.Yet, from where I sit.Among the gardenias, oaks and honeysuckle’s.Peace-ness flows again…From rivers to stream.At half past eleven…And from where I sit…It is all I’ll ever need.All rights reserved JHM 3-8-02 ©
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