http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37193/37193-h/37193-h.htm

It sang without a sound: music that
The naive elm trees loved. They were alive.
Oh silky music no elm tree could survive.
The head low slither of a stalking cat,
Black panther darkness pouring to the kill,
Entered every elm—they drank it in.
Drank silence. Then the silence drank. Wet chin,
Hot, whiskered darkness. Every elm was ill.
What else is there to give but joy? Disease.
And trauma. Lightning, or as slow as lava.
Darkness drinking from a pool in Java,
Black panther drinking from a dream. The trees
Around the edge are elms. Below, above.
Man-eater drinking its reflection: love. 

—Frederick Seidel, “Elms”

If I had my child to raise all over again,
I'd build self-esteem first, and the house later.
I'd finger-paint more, and point the finger less.
I would do less correcting and more connecting.
I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.
I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.
I'd do more hugging and less tugging.
~Diane Loomans, from "If I Had My Child To Raise Over Again"
Thank you, Dimitri Sergio Lebid

A Poem Today

Drained from a flood of emotions 

that washed over me, today, 

dragged into a whirlpool of thoughts 

then spit out limp and listless.

Lying in a boat 

gently swaying to and fro

drifting in no particular direction

lulled by ennui and stagnant salty waters

head filling with watery images 

of doing this and doing that

yet nothing moves but a whispered breeze.

By lucya kotelewec lebid

@13 aug2012
©2013, Lucya Lebid, all rights reserved