At One Time Or Another

Laurel Leigh can’t help writing poetry. She’s just been in denial. Thanks to Luther Allen for creating space for children’s poetry. I would have loved this as a kid but would have been too shy.

Dear Writers

Dear Writers,

When poet maestro Luther Allen asked me to bring a children’s poem to the upcoming SpeakEasy 16 event at Mount Baker Theatre in Bellingham WA, my first thought was:

“If only I were a poet.”

But everyone is a poet at one time or another.

It’s in the way they smile . . .

Selah and Hollie

 Or the way they move . . .

Pizza Toss

Or care for the neighborhood . . .

Work team - crop

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No Aubade for Noctural Devotees

Florencia Carla

No Aubade for Noctural Devotees

My morning is your afternoon.

I waken as you yearn for siesta.

The daybreak birds are silent now.

I see the midnight hour come and go.

My window opens that I may

breathe the night to noon

and fill my dreams with fir and cedar.

Dawn may please early risers.

I know it not.  ‘Tis peace of darkness

that reveals a full moon halo,

meteors, northern lights

and the unexpected call of owl.

Daylight speaks of last wills and testaments,

death and war, the time of cacophony

and frantic rush to increase the bottom

line and meet the next deadline.

The poet rocks and gazes out the window

to see life anew.  The Japanese maple

leafs out to exotic  chartreuse flare.

Nyctophiles gather with bone china

tea cups, just as you meet for cocktails

and think us non-conformists,

eccentric and bohemian.

I know the sky by looking up, not

from books.  Revel  as you will

with rhapsodies of dawn.

The sun will pass me by and I shall

wait in cedar darkness to see

what libation the Big Dipper

pours tonight.

~C.J. Prince