Creative Housework

I'm never
too quick
to clean.

I like my dust,
because it reminds me
that I'm still
living.

And, this...

...Well,
it makes me
happy.

`x~William ~ copyright: 08/28/2009.

Youth Movement:

Of course,
you're different.

we all were,
back then,
when we
were your age.

Words were different;
and,
they carried more weight:

a bright bit of typewritten
words seemed solid, lasting

into a Summer's day,
when being solitary
brought rewards.

You're finding your voice,
reaching for stars.

We were waiting,
back then,
same as you;

something that breathed
independence--

loving and
different--

like you.



`x~William H. Balzac ~ copyright 08/17/2009.

Life [Notebook]

It steps in front of you,
saying, "What's the meaning of this?";
throwing down the gauntlet of its immensity.

Somewhere, a bird lifts itself from the branch,
hovering for just a minute.

Then,

like a tribute to progress,

swoops low over a fisherman,

reeling in a bass.

You must capture the moment
like this.

In life,
you'll find,
all of the fleetingness of numbers enacted in the shadings,
between dawn and dusk.

The eye follows the bird;
keeping faith
with the journey.

`x~William H. Balzac ~ copyright 08/14/2009.

To Do.

In life,
you only have
control over so much;
asking only now
to get from Point A
to Point B.

Nature, ongoing,
falls back upon itself;
never seeming
to love a vacuum.


There will always

be another


bus.


Doesn't it feel good,

letting the raindrops


fall upon


your tongue?


`X~William ~copyright ~ 08/10/09.

Journey [Notebook] :

Working your way outward

your words seem indistinct

of meanings


thrown together

like a mosaic of many colors.



Everything falls into place


eventually.



Time loves a consistent objective


and abhors dilly-dallying,

procrastination,


and small words.




Some people



"Speak softly,


and carry a big stick."


Others, more reserved,

by far,


bring to the table


the same-old patterns,


attached to faulty wiring;

a house,

of many voices,--electric


--soon to short-out.



As you move forward,


carefully question


the many points of departure.



Your Journey,


individual,


carries each word


abidingly


from the start.


`x~William ~copyright ~ 08/07/09

For the Notebook:

In hand, beneath your armpit,
the marble
and black binding

carries an unrecognized heft;
a school-boy's trial with English

skirting 'round
street-corners

like an unlikely teacher's pet.

These days,
I still write with an eraser-tipped pencil,
diligent notes;

the hand,
as quick as the eye,
and, the words
as precious as marble.

`x~William ~ copyright~08/03/09.

Poem

Where do the words come from?
In stillness and quiet
Every simple thing
is set in stone

Never to be
taken away

The explication
and application
a wandering voice

Given freedom
a chance
to breathe

comfortably
upon the page

`x~William ~ copyright: 08/01/09.