A new poem - Waiting No Longer
by Chip Wiegand

Logan's Meadow

Chip Wiegand

Logan's Meadow

The stars shone brightly above, twinkling in soft whites, reds, blues, and greens, the breeze was gentle and refreshing on his skin. The moon, looking like a crescent of white bread fresh from the oven, was smiling down at the world. Logan was laying in the field of grass and wildflowers, daydreaming about his perfect love. Well, since it was late at night it wasn't daydreaming, and since he wasn't asleep he wasn't dreaming. The stars and the breeze rejuvenated his spirit, his mind, his soul.

Logan loved this area far from the lights of the city. Here it was dark and quiet. Peaceful and solitary. The air, fresh and crisp, not the stinky exhaust-filled stuff in the city that blackened the lungs and made people cough and wheeze. He would spend every day and every night here if he could. Logan loved this meadow where he could let his mind run free, away from the busy life of running the farm.

Aches?n?Pains

Jackson, an appropriate name for a rock star, you think? This was where he felt at his best, this was his time to be on top of the world. Here he was all smiles, comfortable, even relaxed, unlike the real world, off of this stage, and outside this place. But, only as long as he had a guitar slung around his shoulders or a sax hanging from his neck. Take either of those away and you won't find him up here in front of all those people. Hundreds of people out there looking up at that stage at him and his 5 buddies. They make up Aches?n?Pains. An appropriate name for a band of guys in their 40s and 50s. Only about half the spots were on before they start the concert and dance and Jackson could feel the warmth from them already, his whole body was warming up and he was feeling energized by the sounds from the people who came to see the band and dance to their music. It was going to be another night of fun, excitement, sweating musicians, and ear?splitting noise. And he loved it. He reveled in it. That was where he belonged.

The Garden

By Chip Wiegand

Her garden. The one place in the world she felt safe, at peace, one with herself and nature. Peaceful, quiet. Colorful, where the colors handed her every imaginable aroma, helping her relax and forget about the life she lived. In the center was a rose tree full of pink roses with just enough shade for her to sit in, protected from the bright sun beating down on her world.