The First Snow  They spiral down the sky like cotton  So light, dancing and twirling in circles  Creating a cheerful note that spreads  With the winds. The city roads are a maze of  Rutted white interspersed with greyish  Sandy marks of footsteps and hasty  Signatures of motorcycles, bicycles  And cars making their purposeful rides  To all corners of the city. The rail system  Normally running smoothly hits a hitch,  The tracks snow covered needing a shove.  The city suddenly turns out a parade  Of mundane coloured umbrellas,  Leather coats and bags, a monotony made  Less intrusive only by the tasteful choice of  Exotic scarfs folded snugly around  Each neck.  The snow falling gently  All over, creating a scene so dear to  An artist who if sufficiently inspired could  Probably turn out his magnum opus to marvel the world! anonymous

Life Is Not What A Dreamer Dreams Senders email: omitted I had a visit from an Angel, He came to me in a dream, His appearance quite scared me , I felt that I could scream. He wasn't the vision of an Angel,  He wasn't dressed in white,  He hadn't feathered wings upon his back, Nor he didn't appear ghostlike. He was just like any ordinary guy, And it never occurred to me to ask him why? He beckoned me towards him, I went with fear and dread, He took my hands in his hands, Looked at me and said. " Don't be afraid, I am here to help you see, That Life is not what a dreamer dreams, It's much more different than it seems, My mission is to show you what Life is all about. And to take you on a journey to help you figure it out". Suddenly I felt myself drifting up towards the sky, I could see the clouds below me,  as we floated up on high. He took to some paces were others fear to go, For the people live there in fear, of cruelty, terrorism and war. Onwards and upwards once again, This time to a place that seldom sees rain, The people are starving, sick and dying, All around the children are crying, Scavenging to ground for a few grains to eat, To help their hunger pains to deplete. We went to place, filled with opulence, greed and lust,  The site of all this prosperity, filled me with disgust.  I had just seen folk dying of poverty and starvation, Whilst others war, terror, and abomination. This was reality, the truth, the fact, I felt I couldn't take anymore, So I begged him to take me back, back to the land of dreams. For a dreamers dream is fantasy, and not of true life it seems. I will always be grateful to that Angel, for showing me the way. To take Life as it comes, regarding what may come my way,  Or how wearisome it may be. For somewhere in this great big world, There will be someone, somewhere, much worse off than me. ©2004

Accounting For Christmas Tally the sales, keep them right Santa is watching, arriving TONIGHT Checking his books, total them to Recording the payments, balances due; Post to the ledger, do it right quick Gaze out the window, watch for St. Nick. Inventory counting, that you MUST do Receivables, payables, invoices too; Balance the bank, get ready go Work out the taxes, don't be too slow. Eight tiny reindeer, prance on the snow Ledgers together, their ready to go The postings are finished, books put away Closed for the holidays, it's Christmas Day; Healthy and happy with Christmas Cheer We wish you a prosperous and good bsusiness year!    © octoberschild1947    @   hotmail.com

Serene? Hues of gray-violet caress the soft cheek of the sky, a cold, dead cheek, with lips of dusk blue. The humid summer air still lingers, and a soft wind rustles through the dead leaves. They struggle all day against the murderous sun, to keep their lively green. But they lay limp and tired, as does the grass brown and broken. I take in this dead peace as a poem in its own, and it's almost as if God dipped his paintbrush into my heart, and with glorious strokes of destructive creation, painted the world the cold color that is me. Shaun Michael Carraway ©2004 Shaun Michael Carraway

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