old ghosts play in a orchestra

before painted ladies

across a golden bridge,

memory sepia toned

kodak instamatic

lingers too,

white house lawn

protest placards,

my poetry read aloud

younger me

more potent then,

squint at the sun

absorbing light,

nature my bus to salvation

notation and tune

may argue with me,

i know where i belong,

war and ever wishing peace

the lick of history

cannot salve wounds so many,

shade of tree a haunted place

my grave and i

knew what path was ahead,

so remember and read

wisdom is a growing child

needing nurture along

the way



  1. reocochran says:

    I liked the way your thoughts and poetry flowed. I do think that I wished there were no wars and only peace. Good thoughts and some morbidity and some hope, too.

  2. Sheilagh Lee says:

    yes you always need to nurture

  3. vbholmes says:

    A lot of graphic imagery in this piece–I particularly like:
    “wisdom is a growing child

    needing nurture along

    the way”

  4. Cat Forsley says:

    Mister Chris 🙂 what’s Goin on – You are writing voraciously ….:)

  5. Old Egg says:

    There are a host of epithets in this piece. It was a joy to read.

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