Sometimes, dancing on the moon  is something we must try
To keep the rust of everyday from sending us to die.
So mix up a new color to paint those graying cellars,
And discover beauty hidden in songs of unknown colors.
Then sing the songs found in your heart, and dance a little more
Before your life has ended and your gravestone reads: “A Bore”.

This poem still needs work, but I decided to post it anyway and I can post an updated version in the future.

        

So gentle does the snowflake fall
Like the smallest downy feather
Yet when I need to shovel
It's tough as rhino leather!

        

Just grab a pen and scribble down all thoughts inside your head
Then worry them and mangle them until they're nearly dead
Then find the ones that still show life
And teach them how to sing.

        

The moon came out on Sunday
But the clouds did hide his shame
For rising on the sun's day,
He really was to blame.

“Just a minute” said the moon,
The sun offends me too
By shining forth on Monday
The day that I shine true.

        

Its Just a Christmas bell From an old time Christmas tree Yet when it starts to ring My soul will sing to me. It isn't made of gold or silver, Just brass with a tin clapper But the heavenly sound it makes Defies it's mortal wrapper. I don't know where it came from Or how long it's been around, But I will have it 'till I die And leave it to be found By someone else who's ready To fall under it's spell And let their soul start singing When they hear the Christmas bell.

This poem was previously published on my spiritual blog.

        

cold autumn day
leaves fallen from the trees,
purple asters.

piles of wet leaves
under naked trees--
box turtle sleeps

the autumn trees
stripped of leaves--
hard to tell apart

through naked branches
on an autumn morning--
bright sunlight

        

A one-show ballerina,
She twirls and spins and glides,
Colors flashing in the light
She shows her many sides.

But now her dance is over
She’s landed in the grass
To be racked with other leaves
Her first show was her last.

        

Turkey roasting in the oven, Harvested vegetables on the stove Aromas of cranberry and fudge Now compete with cinnamon and clove. Kin and kindred spirits come to Share in our feast and joyfulness. Gratefulness shown for all  we have In a toast of love and happiness. Very special blessings to all In our homes and thoughts this special day, Never forgetting from whom it came “God bless us” we all say. By Harold Boulette Jr.

Myspace Graphics, Thanksgiving Graphics at WishAFriend.com

        

Pumpkin, pumpkin on my step Do you think I am a schlep Because when kids knock on the door I will not give junk food galore? It's just 'cause everytime I do Few kids come for treat or trick So I'm left with piles of candy To eat and eat 'till I get sick.

        

    The nursing home is not an attractive place, at least not inside.  It resembles a hospital, which it is in a way, rather than an apartment building or a condo.  Rooms are utilitarian, filled with medical equipment and few creature comforts.  There are odors not quite hidden by air fresheners.  
    Some of the elderly wander around on their own, but most need help from a nurses aide.  There never seem to be enough staff for everyone.  
    Only a few have visitors today.  Some wait for relatives that never show.

waiting for a visit
from his dead sister -
perhaps tonight

    A therapy dog arrives with her owner to visit with the lonely patients.  She brings out smiles where there were none before.  AN old man who is usually rather grumpy, pats her and talks to her in a quiet, soothing voice.  He refers to her by the name of his old dog.  She doesn't seem to notice.

petting a dog -
awakening
the past

    In the common room, their meal is over and they settle down for to an evening of watching television, playing games, or reading.  One old woman with failing eyesight picks up a children's illustrated book.  She can no longer read the words, but she enjoys the pictures.

bright colors -
a gleam
in old eyes

    The dog and her owner are leaving now.  The dog is still wagging her tail.  None of it depresses her.  She has made new friends.  I wonder, when the dog is old and senile, will anyone visit her?

My first attempt at Haibun.  I hope I haven't messed it up too badly.