For more Weatherbone\Frank Rutledge poetry and Planets & Stars music go to...

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At the first signs of greeting...

A greeting to all,

Weatherbone here, let this be my hand held out in greetings. Brew a favorite cup of hot caffeinated beverage, sit back and peruse my musings and create communications. This blog will only feel successful to me if I receive the reader's feedback and participation. I would like to begin with a brand new poem...



Days of Sackcloth and Ash
or Invites to a Pity Party
or Another Woe is Me Session etc.

My emotional weather forecast for today is…raw and exposed. I foresee a cold front on the horizon, with such a chill in the air I just want to throw myself into a few good novels and fill up a couple of blank composition notebooks with mind rambling and heart blather.

It’s time again to do some soul searching.

I comb the universe for my “you are here” locator arrow. This is like my life…

My life is like a return from the concession stand with armfuls of snacks as I struggle to find my seat in the darkened cinema; just after missing the pivotal moment in the film I have anticipated seeing all year long.

My life is like a drive in the countryside where I become lost, but because of the gorgeous scenery I don’t realize I made a wrong turn and end up far from where I want to be.

My life is like spending Valentines Day alone in a hotel room, while I strain to listen to a favorite song coming from next door only I can’t quite hear it over the sound of a passionate couple.

My life is like fishing for whale in a goldfish bowl filled of water from the Thames.

My life is like the amnesiac mailperson wrongly delivering my sexually explicit love letters to the convent on the other side of town.

My life is like a sports car with all four wheels on an ice-covered road, downhill.

My life is like a blueprint plan to tunnel through a granite mountain with marshmallow hammers.

My life is like a fat man on a treadmill lusting over a Twinkie commercial on the gym’s public T.V.

My life is like god bringing on an early sunset so that I’d hush up and get my rest, except I think the almighty is overlooking the fact I talk in my sleep.

My life is like a Father’s bottom drawer unmentionables.