Where Grown-Ups Go

I found the place where grown-ups go

When they need to run away

Coasters, ice cream and fried dough

I found the place where grown-ups go

When they tire of the corporate show

And need some time to play

I found the place where grown-ups go

When they need to run away

Seaweed

Tossed upon the shore

All the beauty of a rose

Often overlooked

The Essayist

She often wrote well into night

Pen to paper by lowered light

When color faded from the day

Words would dance like a cabaret of birds in flight

Most of the stories with her name

Would never bring her much acclaim

This knowledge never stopped her pen

Writing prose again and again, without the fame

A deep love of the written word

Allowed the quiet girl be heard

She bared her soul upon the page

The lady’s passion grew with age, quite undeterred

Little Boy and His Calf

 There once was a boy with a calf

Who built a house then cut it in half

It really worked well

But would have been hell

Had his pet been a spotted giraffe!

The Typewriter

 Your time has passed my loyal friend

You always put my mind to ease

When sleep would flirt yet not descend

My dreams found freedom in your keys

The outlet for my rambling mind

A voice when I could not speak

Muddled words were soon refined

On your keys now deemed antique

Of your passing, there’s no rejoice

I yearn for sounds of tapping keys

Which meant a writer found her voice

Capturing words from elusive breeze