Sunday, February 27, 2005

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  Happiness is noone calling me a zillion times on the phone and a long afternoon nap. 

  What a busy, busy week. 

  I have visited some of you and left messages, but sometimes the xanga bear wouldn't let me post easily, so I gave up and went away, but I have been reading.

  Following is another poem.  Yes, I write the poetry I post.  Some of it is old, but maybe you have not read it.

   

  SPIRAL DAYS

  Those days still call out to me.
  Days of sliding down spirals of crystal frost,
  Punching holes in tissue-paper, blue skies
  With pointed stars of gold and silver foil.
  Days of ragged, crooked butterflies
  Sporting dots of construction paper confetti,
  Torn and tossed in profusion never seen by nature.
  
  Days filled with mittens and kittens and chalkdust sneezes,
  Squeaky shoes and warm, soft mufflers, whisper in confusion.
  Castles growing from secluded mountain tops
  Roll fog then wisp curls around tall, thin turrets.
  Girls with long, golden hair are rescued from dragons,
  Then whisked away to palaces full of happy thoughts and endings.
  Those days still wait to be unraveled,
  They gently call me back to the beginning

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