The Simple Word Poetry

A mid-afternoon walk, I follow the bending road. I stop to reflect at the water's edge. My folded arms rest on the bulkhead as I gaze off into the distance. The seagulls chirp and sing merrily, playing games to keep themselves amused while sitting on a wooden post, basking in the sun's warmth. With its greenish countenance,  the choppy bay waters sparkle beneath the sun's intense rays. Cool breezes bring relief to my baking arms. The inconvenient noise of construction vehicles temporarily  interrupts  the creative voices in my head. I imagine that the trees standing tall across the bay are the lucky ones,  for they live in relative silence while making use of their vast canopy to drown out such disruptions. I continue to walk farther on down the road. I find much peace in meandering without purpose. My day's nothingness means everything to me, fulfills me. At this moment I am calm, content and at peace.

I write this today many years later a confessional of sorts It is my version of facing the parish priest in front of the curtained screen At nineteen you were the last person whom I wished to see Day-in and day-out and utterly unremarkable The lectures, the notes, the early mornings so sluggish The homework, the questions on topics of such rubbish At twenty-three I said adios to your textbooks, chalkboards and pencils For a better world full of work, paychecks and professional credentials Oh the years passed by without a thought of your countenance Why do I need that piece of paper to prove my life’s importance? At forty-six  the years have made me wiser my mind seeks knowledge so I returned to your classroom more mature, apologetic and with courage I now relish your discussions to follow your discretions my years to come will be fuller as I submit to life's boundless limitations So toss my way a ten thousand word paper and watch me astound you.

Spring's wind whips ferociously off of the bay's chilled waters, reminding us that winter's bite still must be reckoned with. Yellow, white and blue daisies struggle to retain their composure amid the stiff breezes. Seagulls attempt to fly overhead, teetering left then right, up then down. Rigid tree limbs ache, bending in uncomfortable contortions. Behind me the dark storm clouds push ever closer. The young girls on the softball field are bundled up from head to toe, resembling yellow-tinged icicles. Two small birds whiz by with abnormal velocity. A group of large pine trees sway frantically, screaming for my attention. I imagine I would be quite dizzy hanging from their branches. The spotty grey clouds over the ocean exhibit a tinge of orange from the setting western sun. I lost my courage to stand outside in these conditions years ago. The warmth of my car comforts me, keeps my fingers from going numb. The sagging daisies surrender, bowing their heads toward the grass a