The ocean

Ocean green, blue glittering, changing, calming foam, whitecap, flood tide, ebb tide sparkling, surfing, coming waves Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 2010

In the stacks

The books are whispering about lost loves, murders for money and passion. They also share, so limited, and out of date, human knowledge. The stacks are silent about students' hugs and kisses, about promises of love, dates under the stars. An old librarian found one morning hanging underwear on Encyclopaedia Britannica, volume L. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 8/14/2009

Lullaby

Dear old man we have to enter your body to remove a source of your pain to make you feel well. You are going to sleep. Do you want me to sing a little lullaby to make you sleep? We already counted all your blood cells, checked your body functions, we counted your heart beats. We know your chemistry. We took your x-rays, we even were thinking about your brain. Everything should go well. Go to sleep, dear old man, so you will not feel a scalpel. When you will wake up you will feel groggy, this where a recovery begins. Doctor, you didn't sing me a lullaby. Sorry, I don't sing well. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 7/27/2010

Geezers

Geezers are sitting on the perch. No, I wanted to say on the bench. "Who are they?" asks new aide. They are geezers. They sit on the bench, enjoy sunshine, and observe traffic. They enjoy life in its fullest. Say to them "Hi" and exchange a word or two. You are young, they'll be pleased talking to you. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 7/25/2009

Lost key

I am a key to your super duper flying machine. I am hiding, so you can not find me. I am not under the carpet, not in the cupboard, I am not in your wallet. I was on your key chain, but I was lost. I am the key to your super duper flying machine. You can put ad in the newspaper: One key is lost. People will bring you hundreds and thousands all kind of keys. They will be knocking on your door. I am your key and I am lost. Your flying machine is useless - - I hope. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 7/21/2010

Integrity

I lost my integrity I was so proud off. "She has integrity," people whispered; and said aloud, too. I even heard words: "She is genuine." And I proudly walked, stiff as a board. I didn't know how to lie. An open book to my fault. Today I lie, make up stories, ask back: "Why do you ask?" and "Why do you want to know?" I am having more fun. Copyright (c) Marie Neumann Pottsville, 7/21/2010

Pigeon

I walked down the street and than turned right. A man was trying to catch something into a box. What is it? a puppy, a kitten, squirrel, or a rat? He was successful and closed a lid on the box. Around, on the ground, were feathers. I asked: "What do you have in your box?" Inside the box was white and grey pigeon with pink beak. "He has broken wing. He was on the street heading for the road. Something would run over him." "It is a beautiful pigeon." The pigeon was looking at us, but didn't try to escape. "They are many sparrows on those trees. They are aggressive and this is what they have done to him." "What are you going to do with him?" "His wing has to heal." "There is an animal clinic tonight on Pearl Street. They are giving rabies shots. They might look at him." I do not know the end of the story, but I am sure the man did everything to save the pigeon.

Copyright (c) Marie Neumann
Pottsville, 6/6/2011