April 29, 2013

To Say Good-Bye?

How to say good-bye?

To those you've barely met; so long, see-yeah, quietly leave.  But does that say it yet?

I never really said good-bye, to those I used to know. 
I guess I always knew I’d return again one day, rain or snow.

It’s been fun, it’s been long, and it’s been great to have known you all. I’ll miss our family outings……we always had a ball.

The empty space within me cannot be filled by anyone here.  I look around, and now I see it clear.

No matter where you go, there you are.
No matter where I go – there I am.

To say good-bye would close a door, a window to a room, a space within a space.

I am not lonely or feel alone, but feel a part of me not yet complete, so I look for that part of me in silence, in my room – when I create.

April 7, 2013

Washing Machines - Nightmarish Dreams

I had these nightmarish dreams, enough to raise me  from my pillow.
Mixing together analogies of novels, short stories
And just what are these things called poems?

I liken a novel to jelly
the kind that is loose, melts across a piece of toast
I liken a short story to jam
large chunks of firm eruptions, great big pieces of tasty flavor
I liken a poem to conserve
emulsifying many thick textures, small and tiny bits of rarities to savor

I wonder at the minds behind the poems
I wonder at what point that mind comes in
I wonder at what point that mind goes out

Do we need to pull that mind into ours?
to feel
to touch
to experience a poem's true meaning
who is the writer?
what does it matter?
to us
to them

Nightmarish dreams
put them
a washing machine
through its agitation
spin cycle
spin cycle

April 6, 2013

Sweet Bursts of Spring

With a mug of hot coffee in hand, I ventured into my garden, to wait for the Morning Glories and Poppies to open - and the soggy grass waited for the morning sun to dry its tender new growth; morning, a time of awakening

I found an old dusty chair, dormant like everything else during winter months, and parked myself with patient resolve to wait for the sun; waiting, a time for remembering.

A breeze picked up, causing branches to sway in the trees.  They hung low in expectation of the sun to show renewing warmth.  New buds appear to steel against an invisible force, with a tremor, a shiver from the night’s cool rain.

The sun’s rays began to break through the mist, a warm and comforting feeling for these old bones of mine, cares of yesterday slipped away, attempting to perish within rivulets of winter’s deep shadow.

My eyes lifted beyond, to the hills, taking in brilliant colors of Spring. A sweet scent of blossoms came to greet me, drifting down on currents of newly warmed air – and with it came the voice of a song bird, bursting with jubilation, welcoming the season, a pleasantry beyond joy. 

Remembering becomes real, bringing harmony and peace
A blend of glory in every way, wishing to never cease
No matter where I turn, no matter where I roam  
To this, I call home