Val enjoys writing prose in rhymes by always leaving a message of a life truism in each piece.
It may look somewhat peculiar that I write the least about those simple things of life that occupy my mind most of the time. As a matter of fact, I feel the best during my walking meditations in my favorite park-forest when I have nothing in particular on my mind.
On the other hand, I go on these writing sprees about matters of some psychological, national, or global significance. Well, mind is a playful function in my head, and if it was not for fun, I would not bother with any of it. Writing feels good, and I am humbly satisfied that my niche attracts at least some of the reading public.
Try everyday crap and no one will read it past the title. Like, last week I single-handedly painted this whole apartment at this age of 76. Wonna hear about detaiis?
See what I mean?-- no interest.
And yet, it just might happen -- like right now -- that I decide to say a few about those ordinary thoughts between washing dishes and relaxed observing the rolling traffic seven floors below.
So, here I go with two or three of these prose-in-rhymes scribblings.
You cannot friend a hawk, they say, unless you are a hawk yourself, alone and only sojourner in the land, without friends or the need for them.
-- Stephen King
My Friend Hawk
Up high on the TV antenna across the street
few times every single day appears a hawk
in my imagination our eyes regularly meet
while he is also watched by pigeon flock.
Well, once when you reach seventy and over
bird watching may become a part of routines
like looking in the park for the four leaf clover
beside a chick in passing reminding of teens.
Now, I know it may sound quite absurd
though quite normal for this aging dude
but I've developed a bond with that bird
or, is it just figment of some crazy mood.
Look, out of many balconies on this side
he once picked just mine to land on its rail
and few times in front of me he would glide
showing off his wide wings and his fan tail.
It specially happens at my wakeful meditations
as I'd stand in front of window oblivious of kind
so, isn't he maybe responding to my vibrations
or it's just a coincidence with no secret behind.
Well, who really cares for there he is again
as at all this distance I can still hear his call
and those are not crazy sounds in my brain
but, is that call for me? - doesn't matter at all.
Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.
-- Gerard De Nerval
A Man and a Daisy
One more time spring was coming
with my heart so drunk with joy
few little bees were humming
turning me into dreamy boy.
Spread on aromatic grass and lazy
with nothing in this world better to do
right beside I spotted this gentle tiny daisy
heaven being reflected in those petals so blue.
Just for a brief moment like mesmerized was I
blending with that innocence so utterly pure
as if though lost in that tiny piece of sky
was I it -- or it was I, now not so sure.
Now releasing a slow, dreamy sigh
as if groggy from that sunrays shower
and blending with the breeze passing by
I asked: "Where ends man and starts flower?"
Seemingly out of love I yanked the daisy
while it started dying from that moment on
suddenly I realized why question was so crazy
it took a senseless man's act for a life to be gone.
In that careless and a peaceful cheer
while a sad return to my senses began
I was getting my answer served so clear:
That's where ends a daisy and starts a man.
Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass... it's about learning to dance in the rain.
-- Vivian Greene
Many Faces of Rain
Rain may look romantic if reminding of the first date
when like two happy kids you stomped in puddle
and then many years later it could again elate
while donating its sound to fireplace cuddle.
A ruined camping with raining for days in a row
after all excitement and all happy preparation
something that from memory all of us know
cursing that persistent rain in frustration.
If plants could speak, a happy story they would tell
as they are thriving on each single droplet of rain
well, just go to woods and you'll know by smell
with all that new oxygen flooding your brain.
Some of us may feel discomfort or pain
with an arthritis in our muscle and joint
so they are not really crazy about a rain
if you are one of them, you got my point.
Mother Nature may come with monsoon rain or flood
proving how anything in excess may not be good
sometimes causing treacherous sliding mud
everything getting wet more than should.
Rain sounds like a lullaby with monotonous tapping
lulling us slowly into sweet and nourishing sleep
it's a perfect music for afternoon napping
at night better than counting sheep.
© 2020 Val Karas
Val Karas (author) from Canada on December 21, 2020:
Peggy -- Thank you, I am glad you liked it.
Peggy Woods from Houston, Texas on December 20, 2020:
I enjoy your flow of thoughts in your poems. From a hawk to daisies to rain, you capture many different emotions.