Shrouded Shore: The Many Musings of Thom Singleton

  It’s Raining Gold The change to gold progresses Green to gold on the maple tree The southerning Sun has done his job The Wind will do the rest A shower of gold each time the Wind blows Today, blue sky, winds high, leaves flying like a flock of golden birds

  Fly Like a Leaf      Oh to be on the open road, again at liberty, to fly like a leaf      Where’er wind, will, or whisper may carry our hearts                                                                        –Author unknown This lyric was sung many years ago around a campfire encircled by tree planters in the national forest of northern Wisconsin. Patti and I and little Aaron were among them, resting after planting an acre or two that day, and caring for the little guy. In late October, when I see leaves blowing in the wind, I am reminded  of that song, and of our month-l...

  A Creature of Rhythm Like breathing Like in and out Like breathing Like in and out Like breathing Like in and out Like in and out Like in and out… Like eating Like chomp and chew Like eating Like chomp and chew Like eating Like chomp and chew Like chomp and chew Like chomp and chew… Like writing Like poetry Like writing Like poetry Like writing Like poetry Like poetry Like poetry… Like breathing Like poetry Like breathing Like poetry Like breathing Like poetry Like poetry Like poetry… :

  The Gold of October We have a new vision, the color of gold, In the maple and the meadow outside our window. As the arc of the Sun heads south, its brilliance for a time remains In the maple leaves transformed to visual riches Both in the tree leaves, and, when they fall, in the carpet below. Leaves still on the tree wave goodbye in the wind, wave goodbye to the Sun. The tree knows it will welcome again Sun’s warming rays in the spring.   

  Once Upon a Time Once upon a time? Wait a minute! How does one get up on a time? Do you run and jump to catch the fleeting second? And what do you do when you’re up there? Hang on for dear life? Or adopt a devil-may-care attitude? I know.  You do as the poets do. You’re in the moment and write about it…quickly. While hanging on, second by second. It’s a wild ride “upon a time.”

  Words Like Water The words flow like a river At the source, a trickle, a tiny wellspring An idea with an outpouring of feeling              Ever tumbling                                               Ever meandering Sometimes eddying back to edit                                  Sometimes dammed Then a torrent                        A cataract             ...

  A Dear Like a Deer Like a mother doe, Grandma watches over her “fawns” as they play on the lawn. After lunch of Spaghetti-o’s, she brings out the Legos, Which become a base in the four-year-old’s imagined outer space. She’s always attentive to signs of grandchildren restive. When the young boys are, she gives them opportunities to create art, Producing paper and crayons for them to draw on. Or, for the eight-year-old, a phone to play games on, for awhile, alone. To her grandkids it’s clear, she’s truly a dear. She puts a smile on their young mugs, then they return her love with heart-felt hugs. It’s true glee for this ol’ buck…uh Grandpa... to see!