Phoebe Snow (born Phoebe Ann Laub; July 17, 1950 – April 26, 2011 was an American singer, songwriter, and guitarist, best known for her 1975 song “Poetry Man”. She was described by The New York Times as a “contralto grounded in a bluesy growl and capable of sweeping over four octaves.” Professional life It was […]
Great research and blog on Phoebe Snow! Check it out!
Thursday is the little niggle
Of excitement, looking forward to the weekend.
“It is almost upon us,” you giggle…
Time for planning, invitations to send,
To do more than is possible, of course.
But it is light-hearted consideration,
Harming none and enjoying the sensation
Of looking forward with exhilaration
To Friday eve, Saturday, Sunday.
This is where the mind is at on Thursday… Enjoy!
A serene rain drips from the sky
Washing the world clean in silent tears,
A soft beauty under full gray clouds.
Workers will dodge through sodden crowds
As the business week begins again…
Breathe in the crisp air.
Close the umbrella, if you dare.
Feel the chilled droplets of autumn
As rusty leaves slither to the ground.
by Deborah A. Bowman
What if? Will the flowers bloom again after the Apocalypse? A small piece of descriptive, deep imagery. We humans need to heed the warnings and save our earth. My two cents … bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor.
Check out the incredible writings by William Johnson, https://storiesoffantasy.com
The world was cracking apart, and breaking into two. It felt as if lighting came dashing over this world, and a shining light filled our eye site. The human kind were born to make this world better not to cause destruction. Ashes all round the place, the fire blazing and the screams of the people echoing back every time i take a step forward. The people deeply buried under the buildings and the fire is taking over us to handle this Earth better. But nobody knows what may happen to this world. What will happen after the humans are wiped out from this earth. What? Something humongous just raised out from the land like it is the almighty god and has always been there for us. The flowers blossomed again, the trees cherished. Beauty was rising from the ashes.
A computer will never take the place of a human wordsmith/editor. Robots and artificial intelligence cannot duplicate the true emotion that lives in the connotative nuances of words. Only the heart and soul can breathe life into black-and-white ink splotches on a crumbled page which will become art, drama, perception, persuasion, and pre-cognition. It is our history, our current timeline, and our future. The human brain and Universal mind produces words that sing, inform, rejoice, or weep; sometimes, most often heard in the silent pauses between descriptive utterances of voice and breath.
Hence, the philosophy of one lone humble poet and writer, “bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor”.
Snow nestled in silent hills
Silence in the frozen chill
Awake to the dawn of a wonderland
Beneath a sky painted by nature’s hand
Your whispered breath on the window pane
Mist of tears in your eyes gain
Momentum, then fall in heaves and sighs
You want to share the heightened emotion
But all that you see is your own devotion
He would have loved the snow
For he had no where to go
Now he dwells at heaven’s door
Asking nothing, feeling the cold no more
Deborah A. Bowman