The Poetry of Carrillee Collins Burke:
Dancers In The Wind
From behind doors of glass
I watched two beautiful pines,
alive in the fresh dewy grass,
attractive in their colorful lines.
Rooted deep in the solid ground;
him, tall in his dark spruce way,
and she in a pale green gown.
Suddenly, a band begins to play
a furiously wild step.
Then it twirled him, and spun her,
and twisted them with added pep,
ruffling them like a nasty slur.
It appeared they could perform no more.
But the terrible beat leered on
as if it could see through the roar,
leaving everything begone.
She lost the fluff from her limb;
he no longer was totally green.
The jitterbug step was too grim
and the loud music too mean.
He had no arms left to hold her.
She had no waist for him to hold.
Their beautiful bodies a blur,
nothing left to enfold.
The cha-cha tore their greenery awry
leaving brown trunks bare to the winds.
They bowed with a mournful cry.
Roots upended, their life rescinds.
The Hurricane took its last breath,
after the dancers danced to death.
Painting Autumn
Somewhere out of the dawn,
just before daylight broke,
frost froze my carpet-like lawn
and an unseen artist spoke:
“I will paint the world
beautiful and clean.”
So giving his brush a whirl,
he dabbled at nature’s scene.
Mixing magic angel dust
with bright yellows and red;
trees changed to orange-rust
and put summer days to bed.
“I don’t need a reason,”
said the artist from above.
“It is the autumn season;
I’m showing the world my love.”
The Lonely Poet
In a dark silent room,
he sits at his desk,
paper and pen at hand.
He stares into space–a
place beyond his world
where only dreams live
and problems don’t exist.
He writes his poetry;
thoughts enter
through the window
of his soul.
Then he hides it
from others …
for all eternity.
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