Story Institute Imagine Your Stories Again…

If you are a writer, storyteller, or poet, you know how difficult it is to create words with meaning on the fly and under pressure…we try to write one poem every week during the summer.

Today…today, I say
Was, in fact, a long, long, long day…
The fact is there
And, everywhere…
As it the solstice is here.
When did this sneak up on us?
When did we get into this rush?
Enjoy the light…
Refuse the night…
Reach for the stars
If you can stay awake…
Leave the bugs in the jars
From yesterday
For they will be out too late.
Enjoy, rejoice, [...]

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Cars, cars, cars…
Where has all the traffic scattered…
Did they pool together?
Not likely…
Did they migrate like coconuts?
Not exactly…
Did their owns forget to walk them?
Um, that’s silly…
Will they return?
Yeah, probably…
When will they be in masses?
Soon, I think…
When is that again?
When young minds open…
By: John E. Murray, III

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So many hues of blue
So many wispy waves of white
So many fluffy pillows
Floating on the brilliant blue expanse…
Such is the view of the summer sky
Such is the snug cap
Keeping the heat below.
Sometimes darkness strikes
And, a small moment of coolness
Settles strongly on the setting below.
Keep an eye the greatness above
Keep an eye on the open dome…
Dreams [...]

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Good morning my dear friend…
Do you know the time by chance…
No…maybe we need to talk about a clock…
What’s that, you can can not read the numbers…
Haven’t we talked numbers before?
Haven’t we held up fingers to show the digits?
What’s that, you still can’t read…
Perhaps, we should set your alarm…
Oh, your clock is not working…
Sigh…
Let’s try darker [...]

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Waiting, watching, wasting
The time away into
Some other place…
Some other time…
Some other thought…
Where did the day start
That is ended so off track…
Where did the sun go
When it disappeared before it set…
When will we see
Where the rain fell
During a much longer drought…
How can we bring back nature
Into a crowded, abbreviated room…
By: John E. Murray, III

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I…
Often wonder…
About the path…
My life has taken…
The Beale Street we called home…
Was quite, secure, and middle class…
Loud, motor, not steam boats covered…
The rocky, slow moving river where we fished and played..
Driving here to just about anywhere was the norm…
While flying was left to later, family days, and…
The dreams to reach the encouraged heights…
Maintaining used swampland [...]

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