ON THE OTHER SIDE

I can see it there …
Just beyond the bus door …
Just down the bus stairs …
After just one stop more …

Hissing brakes
Lurching stop
Squeaky hinges
I stand at the top …

Then step step step, down I go,
When feet hit street it’s begun:
The summer, sweet summer, there it is, right there,
Just beyond the bus door, all that fun.

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THE LIGHT

If life were like a grotto
There would be no score
If the lighter of a candle
Had been rich or a poor

Or boy or girl
Or black or white
Or young or old
Or left or right

Or what had brought’em there
Or how many lights they’d lit
Or if they liked to stand in back
Or kneel alone or sit

No one keeps track of how to spell
The candle lighters’ names
At a grotto time is better spent
Reflecting on their flames

And when the spirit moves,
Passing the light along,
With no thought that the candle
You’re sharing from is wrong

If life were like a grotto
Every light that we discover
Would warm and guide and give itself
To freely spark another.

A BASKET CASE

UPDATED 3-26-16: To read this poem as a STELLER STORY, click on the photo below.

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Last year’s Easter egg hunt
was in the old cornfield.
Now it seems that day
not every egg was revealed

and that from those left back
are this year being born
acres and acres of stalks
sprouting tiny eggcorns.

Nature’s packaged each one
in a shell in a husk,
so cracking the eggcorns
is a rusty padlock fuss.

But once their outer layers
are opened up and clean
the cob yolks deep inside
are like nothing that you’ve seen:

Purple, pink, and yellow,
orange, blue, and jade,
all the prettiest pastels,
every springtime shade.

Just how nature made this magic
Science is still figuring,
but one thing learned so far:
is mighty omelets
from the tiny eggcorns spring.

AN EASTER EGG RAINBOW

Eggcorns are the kernel of a colorful Easter breakfast. (Photo: PaC)  

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VINCENT VAN GOTTOGH GRAHAM

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RE-LAUNCH ANGLE

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MY OPENING DAY WISH, 2018