Murmuring that Creeps into the Life of a Wandering Soul, Part III

You know the drill by now. Besides, I cut my finger this morning, so typing is a challenge.

Enjoy!

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 whisper to the trees

and watch the blushing flowers

fall onto the snow

still, grey sky above

scent of rain from my guitar

ginger in a jar

stand alone in sand

the sun burns the painted egg

dancing in a glass

A haiku for Tina
berries on the vine

blood flowing from my fingers

taste the warm, ripe fruit

5/19/10  The Moon

crooning in the night closes his eyes and hammers a hole in the moon

nails jam in wet earth

last song of spring pools in fields

bleeds onto my hands

click of the shutter

and the scent of lavender

beneath the bright moon

dog barks at the moon
man growls and grabs club to strike 
frogs croaking at night

his hat's in the trash

she's alone and free tonight

no tears--just a fox

drains the coffee cup
picks up his pencil and breathes
life in the tired world

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If you enjoyed the moon photo, you can view more from my moon album.

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As always, I love to hear from you.

If you're in the cyber-neighborhood, drop me a line.

In the meantime, keep writing, reading, and smiling.
It's contagious.