Return.

Men. the Martians gird for war,
Red dust whirling in a sea of strife,
Women from Venus, keep the lore,
The hothouse planet, the abode of life.

We, the people from Uranus are,
The outer orbit of the realm of light.
Out on that frozen planet far.
Before the passing of the Sun in night.

When will true acceptance sweet
Return us gently to our place of birth,
So we the pearly dew may greet,
Upon that blue-green sphere, the Earth?

Ourselves.

If we were prepared to dress whenever we wished,
If we were prepared to be seen in public at any time,
If we were prepared to mould our futures without despair.
Would we be
Shapelier than Elle
Richer than Croesus
Wiser than Solomon?
No. We would be more than all these things.
Ourselves.

Socks.

I'm sure that you
Will agree with me
That frocks are
Better than socks.

Enigmas.

The galaxies of stars wheel overhead,
Bright points on velvet ground.
Their fires blaze down upon my head
from gulfs of space and time long dead.

We are enigmas in that starry night,
Stars shine but we do not.
Why must we suffer for the right
To freely offer up our light?

Closet Thoughts.

A closet. A dreary place,
Where trunks and other things are stored;
Where we reality refuse to face
And leave our lives on dusty hold.

All closets have an access door,
Oft stuck fast or jammed;
Through which our natures can outpour
And brave the open world beyond.

A closet door is never locked.
It's up to us to open wide
The door as if others knocked,
And show the gentle joy inside.

Lives.

The forest path winds through the glade,
All agleam with transitory light,
Before deep shade claims its skeins anew
Some would the glade, the path enfold,
Ray clear with sun its furthest length.
Yet paths are not that easily unwound.
Nor lives in brighter images remade.

Size 20.

Size 20. Ah, the size from hell!
It really makes me want to yell
About this fate in which I fell.
Why can't I be like Little Nell ?
Now frankly, clearly, let me tell;
To be Size 12. my soul I'd sell!