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Grey Today…






But That’s Okay






Poems

by Stacie Morrell
















Gray Today….But That’s Okay

By Stacie Morrell


Copyright 2017 by Stacie Morrell

staciemorrell.wordpress.com

Photographs copyright by Stacie Morrell


All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.







Other Works by Stacie Morrell:

Sir Stan the Bogeyman

The Bug Came Back

The Forgotten Room

A sequel to Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden




I dedicate this book to my mom, who edits, perfects and encourages my writing, and spent endless hours teaching me how to spell and overcome my learning disabilities. And to my dad who encouraged me and always made me want to be better.





I would like to thank my friend Aaron, who never tattled on me for breaking his arm when we were kids, and who generously provided much needed art for this volume.








What an amazing feeling, the opening of a book!

Revealing the words inside, they confide,

Secrets and stories and delights and frights.

The pages flutter, finding a place,

For the devouring of words to begin.















PART 1

Fact





























Writing By Flashlight


This temperamental Muse of mine

Seems to keep an awkward time

She wakes me in the hours of dark

Flaring that creative spark

At least I don’t have writer’s block

But my muse needs a better clock.

























Statuesque


The blue-green lady

Wearing lichen and ivy

With ballroom elegance

Waits among the roses

For the fullness of time to pass.









The Real Woman


He strokes her like a lover;

Her head in his lap.

He plays with her hair,

Her blue eyes watch him.

He touches her ear,

She smiles just a bit.

He touches her chin,

And she purrs.



























I Can Fix That


Broken windows with necklaces of dangling chrome 
Airless tires nesting in long grass
Tattoos of algae obscuring parched yellow paint
Mice nesting in rotted vinyl springs sprung into air
Vines of ivy weave through rusted holes
Silent engine dripping parts into the weeds
Warped trunk lid’s crooked smile
Headlamps shedding tears of broken glass
Carpet crisp with moss sprouting spring flowers.









The Old House


I heard they were going to tear it down.
I wonder what it feels like
To fall to the ground.
All the memories,
All the years,
End up in a crash of dusty tears.
In the halls the laughter echoes,
Distant, fading,
No one hears.
Memories everywhere,
But no one to see.
Calling out,
Calling out,
Calling to me,
Don’t bring the hammer,
Don’t bring it down!













Moonrise


The shy moon shines

Draped in cloudy filaments

Lighting stars against the void

Conducting tides as a symphony

Pulling the sun in its wake

As dreams break apart in the light.











My Narnia

Was not in a wardrobe

But in the storage space under the bay window.

The doors of pegboard slid aside

And I would remove all the games stored there,

Then slip in, curling into that half hexagonal space

Sliding the doors closed, I saw the dining room

In perforated relief. A small hole in the outside wall

By my face trickled a cool waft of outside air

Scented with rain, hidden dust, and old timbers.

How did my mom know when I was in my Narnia

I wondered, forgetting the pile of games on the floor.




















Beautiful Ink



The petite and tidy lady is probably in her 70’s,

A regular customer always pleasant.

She surprises me today, saying,

“That’s some beautiful ink you have there.’

Pleased I say “Thank you.”

“I especially like the chest piece.”

She continues, smiling wistfully.

“My husband had a lot of beautiful ink.

Covered in it he was. I loved it.

He always wanted me to get some, but I couldn’t.

But I loved looking at his tattoos.” She sighs.

And before I can say anything she adds,

“He’s gone now and so is his ink, of course.

I miss both, my husband and his beautiful ink,

So I’ll admire yours. Thank you for getting them.”

Then she left the store, as I,


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