Backpack filled with
Paper, pen and book.
Billy Collins is the poet I am
Reading now to see how he
Puts his lines together.
I am reclining on a wooden swing
Made by the old German
Who once farmed this land.
Water seeps from the hillside,
Forms a creek,
And gushes over a log.
The sound of the splashing
Mesmerizes me.
I listen and then I do not.
Billy Collins often writes his
Stanzas in three line sets.
Ordinary events of ordinary days.
My verses often go much longer.
Not as consistent as Billy's
But then he has written books of the stuff.
My output would be a very slim volume
Compared to his, but maybe to some
No less important.
Sunlight on Water
Blinding spots of light
Blinked on the morning channel
As ducks swam toward the big lake
Sail boats skimmed by
Forcing the ducks to retreat to the wall
Waiting for a bit of calm
Their backs toward the light
Beaks toward open water
Cautious but unafraid
Bright light and dark shadows
Seem to motivate living creatures
To take the chance of moving forward
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