She’s been gone 4 years, 6 months, 7 days.
Yet, she visits religiously
The postman has no clue,
of the bounty he brings
with a bill from Duke Energy.
She must have purchased
a life long subscription
to watch TV.
it’s just another magazine-
not to me.
Maybe you’ve felt it,
perhaps it floats to the surface every now and again.
Like a buried treasure,
it can be locked away or reasoned with.
I believe it resides someplace deep and real;
uniquely different from love.
It’s beyond what the eye perceives,
burrowed in the soul
far, far down
nestled with bone, twisted through tendon,
sleeping silently in cells.
It’s everywhere and through everything human
A testament of undeserving grace.
When you’ve seen it, really seen it
rubbed up against it,
smelled its essence
Lavish it upon yourself,
wear it like a coat of brilliant reds and golds,
toss it carelessly like confetti….everywhere
It is our human fanfare.
Full of Hope
The scent emerges first,
A pungent smell of earth,
Up from the ground,
Barren of sound.
Sunshine sparks the frenzy.
Every fiber of soil thrusting,
Quaking and shaking,
Nature in the making.
The Master’s symphony
A chaotic cacophony.
The gift of renewal,
Wrapped tightly with
Of Promise and Hope.
Never ending resilience,
A song that resounds perfectly
from year to year.
Song of the Earth,
Play on, play on.
There are certain seasons when you can almost see and hear Mother Nature hard at work creating new life. It’s comforting to know that there’s a force so strong that it’s moving the earth below our firmly planted feet. This poem refers to the motion of “moving, shaking, and quaking the earth,” and serves as a reminder that there’s a lot happening in our world that we cannot see. I am eternally thankful for this promise.
Song of the Earth was written as a reminder of the ultimate renewal of life. Not only does this relate to the work being done in nature, but to the emotional work that we, as humans, are engaged in. Growth is the same in nature as it is with life.
My Mom was an addict.
She left traces everywhere,
and didn’t seem to care
about the pieces she
here and there.
She couldn’t go out without partaking.
A true obsession in the making.
Everyone around her knew.
We kept her secret and never shared
the nitty, gritty details
of her sordid affairs.
You must have seen them,
they were everywhere,
in every shape and size.
There were pitchers, vases,
water goblets, cream and sugar bowls.
Dishes for candy and butter,
and pickles, and relish-yes, even relish.
Endless amounts of ashtrays, punch bowls,
cake plates, salt and pepper shakers, brandy decanters
(she never even drank brandy)
There were special
containers for olives and teeny, tiny
pearl white onions.
Everything you could
imagine was there.
So many patterns refracting the light,
amazing prisms of delight.
Designs of stars, diamonds, crests,
it was a beautiful cut glass world.
Today, as I look around,
I see sparkling reminders of the
light from my mothers eyes,
when she returned home with
another piece of cut glass heaven.
Full of Hope
I roamed the halls of my high school
year after endless year,
and watched as oodles of boys hung their
athletic arms adoringly over the shoulders
of their latest love……
Yins to each Yang–or so each hoped.
Life pushed on, and although I forgot,
delivered on a long ago prayer.
A shiny gift,