Small Words

When you get right down to it, there is no law which says you have to use big words when you write.
Most of the time, I like big things, for I am a big thing, I mean. But small words are good, too. They can say all the things you want to say, quite as well as the big words. All of us know what the small words mean. They are rich with just the right feel, the right taste, as if they were made to help you say a thing just the way it should be said. Small words can be crisp, can be bright and brief. They go right to the point. They have a charm all their own. They can make you feel as well as see the cold dark of night, the hot sting of salt tears, or the joy of dreams come true. Small words move when big ones stand still, or get in the way of what you want to say. Some of the time I like small words the best! Do you?


You May Not Think of Me at First

You may not think of me at first
When there are others to attend
Your every need, your hunger, thirst,
The leisure hours you have to spend.
You may not need me right away
When pleasure opens like a fan,
When every moment of the day
Falls neatly in your master plan.
But even kaleidoscopes grow dull,
And arousals unwind and stop,
When you have climbed the pinnacle
There's nothing: no one at the top.
Then you will think of me and find
My name's a natural one to cry--
I haven't quite made up my mind
Whether or not I shall reply...


LIFE

Life is inseparable from pain--even a child understands that.
Pain is a small price to pay for living.
A broken heart, or agonizing physical pain is bearable as long as the eye can look upon the sun and the sea.
If I should lie dying, and not see this sea again, this sky, this earth but to die where the room is filled with shadows
To unloving child--save your tears, save them for your children when they forget you or leave you lonely or pretend love for you or break your heart--
save your tears, you'll need them someday.


Life Left Behind

She had to leave...from her sea she went
And left behind the sound, the scent
Which had so long caressed her nights and days.
She wept at first, then came to love the desert ways.
New beginnings had taken her so far inland...
Still now she stoops to touch the arid sand.
Ah...dusty leaves through which the wind has sighed
Have sounds, almost of waves... It's an ebbing tide.
I'd like to pick up all of them
Shell-creatures of the living sea,
With convolutions like the waves
And colors of a tulip tree.
But shells are like my wandering dreams
Some to be kept, some cast away,
So I'll just save the choicest ones
To treasure on a lonely day.


The Butterfly

Today a butterfly visited me
And I had a brief chat with a brown honey bee.
The tangy crisp feel of Fall is in the air
Leaves from the walnut tree land in my hair.
The skies now seem bluer than skies in summer
Breeze blown nuts tumbling down tap the ground like a drummer.
These Autumn days shrink, the sun shines briefer and colder
Wintry winds icy fingers sleeping entrance grows bolder.
The calendar days slip by quickly it seems
Our sheltering home exists just in my dreams.
On paper I've built it, planned it with care.
It's right for our needs, others homes can't compare.
But I stand on the bare wooden floor and look out
These gaping window holes and I doubt If we'll ever be ready for Winter's cold storm.
Can we live in our new house, all cozy and warm?
Or will the next springtime first new butterfly
Find the house still unfinished, I think I'll just cry!