Fireworks

Ready, set, explode.

The squad bursts into motion.
"Whatever It Takes!"
rattles the fans.
Cheers shake the roof.

The mat pops with tumbles,
hand springs and cartwheels.
The Audience watches the
flash and sparks of spirit
erupting into pyramids
with flyers shooting
high into the air.

Sounds vibrate the gym.
A calliope of tucks, tumbles and toe touches are
pinnacled with elevators, extensions
and double twists
bursting skyward.
The crowd applauds the
choreographed motion of exuberant skill that
explodes and illuminates the mat
in a spectacular display
that is a rowdy, beautiful cheer
of Fireworks!

A Teacher of Art

Today, he was sitting on the bench,

Sketch pad and pencil in hand.

The wind ruffled the paper

While clouds dimmed the world.

I have seen him about the town.

Sketching, drawing, painting

In bright summer dancing in color

And dismal winter of charcoal gray.

I sat next to him and glanced at his work.

His hands were sturdy, the fingers gentle.

“Wouldn’t it be easier in a studio?” I asked.

He adjusted his pad, hand flickered on.

Paints have to spill,” he said.

“Brushes have to hit, tickle, and wave;

Pencils cut, trace, kiss, and break;

And easels get knocked down.”

“Color must be grabbed, smelled,

Rubbed between fingers and tasted.

Form dances, skulks and caresses.

Light and shade play hide and seek.”

 He closed his pad and pocketed pencils.

“Yes, it would be easier in a studio.”

With crinkled eyes, he threw me a wink.

“But, then how fun would that be?”

This poem is a part of the Wordz collection.