By Toni Kief
No longer the spectator
Nodding on the side
Fueled by a drive
Battle for rights
Hand to your vest
Black marker prepared
Draw signs of protest
Sensible shoes and cozy hat
Confident of age old demand
Ready to walk, aching to run
We gather to make a stand
Demands expose personal grief
Sisters and Misters temper a rage
Messages of love and promise of peace
We each take the stage
Passion in the parking lot
Marching in the street
In a unified beat.
Creeping through a sleeping house
In my wool socks and Yoga Tee.
The world is blessed with slumber
Except for exhausted me.
Lying still with eyes pressed
Mind reeling with disjointed thought.
To haunt lonely corners the drowsy sneak
Bargains for an hour of dream .
Everyone else slumber s in peace;
No appreciation of good fortune
Until they pad the dark with me.
Why does slumber elude me so?
I truly love her best.
Those she caresses appreciate not
and the one she spurns is obsessed.
Here I am in the soundless house
Where even the termites rest.
Dressed the part, and hopeful
That fortunes will turn and reset.This week @USCD
Cutting butter into sifted flour measured by feel,
Baker envies the muse on card 3 by 5.
Channeling a homesteader’s lost culinary skill,
Hands move anxious with a primal drive.
Deftly rolling to line a geometric design.
Bursting with promise, fresh fruit with no flaw.
Hand full of spice no need for red wine
Marry to sweetness as pure as spring thaw.
Heating the wonder of nature’s pure gifts
Perfection’s aroma fills the home with a sigh.
Steam arms embrace by heaven’s richest kiss.
Family wisdom tempts the heart’s hungry eye.
The golden disk nests in a tin grandma sent.
Sliced while warm, no cream piled high.
The perfection guarantees the time to present,
An award for the first Pulitzer pie.