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Monday, March 05, 2012

An Unfolding Picture


A picture begins to unfold:

a simple place,

maybe a wife,

maybe not.


A small studio for writing,

a little workshop with good tools for making musical instruments.

lots of exposed wood,

but small.


Maybe a little outdoor theater for small concerts,

maybe a round classroom for courses and seminars,

maybe a little place to sit around a fire at night.


A picture begins to unfold.


Posted by Steven Fletcher at 9:22 AM
Edited on: Monday, March 05, 2012 9:26 AM
Categories: Poetry


Death and dying are natural things;

not understood,

but natural.


But to die,

to see

which nation has more stomach for it,

which nation will sacrifice more of its young,

to be part of that,

to be one of those numbers,

for this I cry;

as do

most all

of the mothers,


many of the fathers,


all of the children,



of those with hearts.


Posted by Steven Fletcher at 8:38 AM
Edited on: Monday, March 05, 2012 9:28 AM
Categories: Poetry