Writer. Educator. Artist.
I Admit © arlene s bice
Yes, there are times, when problems
lay heavy on my shoulders
times when longings go to being
a child, carefree, my biggest problem
wanting a dime to buy a comic book
but problems pass, get solved
I admit, tis a joy to make my
own decisions, wise or no
Ahhh Cinderella! ©arlene s bice
As a teen, I longed for my prince to come
haul me up onto his great white horse
ride into the sunset, travel, dance, sing
no one told me he was really a toad
no way would we ride onto the road
troubles and sorrows on me did he load
till I finally grew up and wised up, too
bought my own horse-power, that was
first a 2-wheeled Honda, then a Harley
candy-apple red, shiny and took myself
over mountains, down into valleys low
vroom, vroom, wherever I wanted to go.
Photo by Fran Now Time-unsplash
photo by Danny b-unsplash
It’s True © arlene s bice
At birth it was obvious to Mom
this is the one whose destiny is
to soar, to seek, to blossom with
travel; an adventure gene glowed
like a brilliant star shining within
you will mingle with others, it said
of different ethnic customs, beliefs
you will taste foods of many people
create friendships; gather knowledge
you will form friendships from afar
it’s true, it began early in life, a joy
it remains deep in my heart still
it’s restlessness, a wandering mind
feet itchy with sand-filled shoes
a thirst for ever more, again, again
writing it down may bring content
there, I did that, been there, next?
photo by michael krahn
Into the Forest © arlene s bice
In childhood, my forest was a Woods
more than a copse of trees less than a forest
nestled between two developed pieces of land
a special place that I walked, later rode my bike
five blocks, climb a tree, cozy myself in a union
sometimes lucky to find no one else thereabouts
read a comic book from my back pocket
the big boys off playing chosen action games
beyond my size, age, and being a girl
ah, it planted a seed, a memory of warmth
where comfort is found in the arms of a tree
it is still there; I drive to a nearby state park
a forest much larger; I don’t climb trees anymore
but find a fallen log or stump of an old one
bring out my sketch pad or lined journal
pencil or pen in hand soaking up peace,
tranquility, restoration of self slowly comes
a ray of sunlight may filter through the trees
rustle of dry leaves and crickets are chorus
birds quiet, waiting to see what I will do
the magic of Mother Nature, still works.
Brother Bob & Me
Childhood Pictures ©arlene s bice
Dad, an amateur photographer
of curious mind to satisfy
equipment was plenty; quality
developed his own negatives
chose favorite spots
now remembered
cozy bookcase corner
backyard pale pink rosebush
front porch entry
dressed in holiday clothes
church steps next door
on ground donated by
great grandmother Rachel.