Gwynneth Green poet and lyricist extraordinaire, her poetry and lyrical background are gifts from her grandfather, Bud Green

a poets playground

look who’s smiling

there was an inkling
in the air
for those
in or out
of despair
to wake
decidedly different
to take on
a new
perspective
put on those old
rose colored glasses
the ones hidden
on the top

Wednesday’s malaise

was it the wrong side of the bed
that started the day
as if your out of step
the feet seem to work
as you mull about
but
something ain’t right
not battling
a cold or flu
can’t say it’s the blues
but

bff’s home

don’t you remember
your bff lived here

really dear
it wasn’t that long ago
though the
ivy
would not
lead you to believe so

does it depress
you
to see
her house
in abandonment
does it wipe
the wonderful
memories
from

house beautiful

was it a dream
or a memory

she said she’d never leave
a grand dame
in need of a palace

you were
to her
everyone who went by
couldn’t help
but stop and take in your beauty

she cared for you
more than the kids
you

gray

every shade of gray
was exposed
in the lack of sunlight

they stood tall
they stood strong
though the wind
howled through their limbs

they had lasted
decades of wear & tear
rooted tightly together
holding each other up

sharing
seasons that passed so fast

clock’s a ticking toward summer

was it a lust for living
or lustful living
that drove the desire
the want for a man
or a woman
bent on breaking boredom

with lips painted red
and hips swaying
she will knock’um dead
on arrival

she reminded me
of someone

a poets notes

step-a-holic

Well it is official now I have been classified as a step-a-holic. Anyone else out there ready to admit to this classification. It really started innocently with the purchase of a Fitbit, one year ago. Just to get me on track to taking more steps in a day, shed a few pounds and boost my