Sunday, February 27, 2011
I close my eyes and fall into a summer sunset
at the end of a seaside day filled
with the warmth of a heart and
the beauty of a soul.
I wash winter from my bones and
breath deeply of the salted air,
fresh as a cotton ball,
and fill my heart with the music of the gulls
before tumbling deeper in my dreams
colored by marmalade skies and the peace
that only the ocean can bring.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Redemption and salvation
gather in the crisscross lines
of her weathered face
inking garish tattoos
revelations of a tortured life.
"Free shelter from the cold."
She eyes the door warily,
dreaming of the comfort of a hot bath
and layers of warm blanckets
and someone who cares.
She holds tightly to her cart
where mult-color trashbags
organize her life in chapters.
And she knows she cannot let it go.
She slowly turns away,
not willing to risk losing all
for the promise of a warm bed.
She curls up in a ball
just outside the station
one arm intertwined with her cart
and sleeps a dreamless sleep
Her heart harbors memories
of ordinary days when she
gathered moonbeams on the mountain
and danced in the streets with the sun
The morning brings another day
of listening to her many voices,
each dressed in layers
of a face presented
daily to passing motorists;
Her cardboard sign begging for attention,
"Need Help! All help is good".
Friday, February 25, 2011
Small blue sunshine sky
peeking through to warm the earth
and chase away the storm;
leaving a trail of sapphires in the clouds
and a thousand diamonds glistening
on urban icebergs
wheeling their way down icy roads
Just wishing there were snow days for grown-ups...
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Abandoned and lost to the sand
Tattered and torn, wet and bedragled.
So lonely for the blue sky freedom
on the wings of a sea bound gull.
Yet even in your fall from graceful flight
You maintain the beauty born of wind and clouds
and the thrill of soaring over distant lands and seas,
Where you skimmed the waves with sun-kissed wings
and challenged gravity while seeking heaven.
Even now, you sing of life beyond
as you blow across the sand
Seeking, always, to rejoin the sky.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Through it all, I've learned to focus on my faith and count my blessings more. I've learned to appreciate the small things in life that can fill your heart with gratitude for being alive - friends, both new and old, the beauty of nature and the healing power of art. And the small treasures I have gathered as I travel....small tokens that I can touch and look at to remember days that have filled my heart with gratitude for being alive.
Last year I traveled to Melbourne, Australia. A trip of a lifetime to a country I fell instantly in love with. A trip that brought me new, lifelong friends and lasting memories that changed my life in so many ways. So as I was leaving Melbourne, I bought a teacup set in the airport to commemorate my trip. A bit pricey for me, but a thing of beauty, decorated with lavender and bees, of fine bone china, complete with a saucer, lid, cup and strainer. An avid tea drinker, I justified the price by imagining sipping tea in a pool of sunlight while reading the paper at my kitchen table, dreaming of Australia.
In reality, when I returned, I put the cup in a safe spot and looked at it often, but rarely used it for tea , wanting to keep the memories safe from harm. The cup sat on the top shelf of my cabinet, a place not even the cat has found his way into, looking so beautiful and so full of a perfect vacation in a far away place. Until today.
Today, I reached into the cabinet to remove a butter dish. Somehow the dish caught the edge of the cup. I saw it falling. I let go of the butter dish and grabbed to catch the cup, but together they fell to the floor, the heavier butter dish shattering the china cup into many small pieces. And I burst into tears because it was lost and just one more loss to add to the load and cried for the unfairness of one more loss to live through.
But after I started breathing again, I realized a cup is just a cup. An inanimate object. Beautiful, but empty. And it languished on that sterile shelf, instead of being well-used, for fear I would lose it, too. I realized how silly I was to put so much value in a "thing". Because the memories I so cherish live in only in my mind and heart and can never be broken or lost. They are there within me and meant to be examined and cherished often, not kept locked away for fear of losing them.
But still, even broken, I could not bear to throw the cup away. So I carefully glued the pieces together. There's a few holes here and there...it will no longer hold water. So what better purpose for it now than to house a small primrose to lighten up the winter. After all, the primrose should thrive, surrounded by beauty and love and warm memories of down under.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Fog hugs the ocean waves
and weaves a gray green tapestry
through the rain forest canopy.
The mist washes away the grime
of the city and cracks open
the hard shell of urban living.
I stand still in the dark salt mists,
close my eyes and feel myself fall through time.
I am entranced by the rhythm of ancient drums
and feel my old bones warm to dance
under the full fish moon
and feel the magic of old, sacred things
fill my soul with longing
for the wild abandon of primitive places
and the heartsong of an ancient sea.
where ocean meets the shore
a perpetual battle
between capricious water and
the eroded detritus of ancient rock.
the water sneaks away the sand,
grain by grain.
Between the tides,
the sand quietly creeps back to shore.
As I walk in quiet meditation,
sand squishes between my toes
constantly shifting and changing face
blowing about in the breeze
tickling my face with tiny pinpoint pricks,
Gulls and shells and crabs are spectators
as the sand polishes stone and wood
and builds castles grain by grain.
A hundred colors blend to ochre shimmer,
glowing with sunset light.
All life can be a beach...
Although we have moments of quiet desperation,
when all appears for nothing,
we quietly continue our journey;
back and forth, win and lose and win again;
day by day and grain by grain.
And when we reach our destination,
we rest a moment and
begin the journey again.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Threadbare coat and scarf tied beneath her chin, she moves slowly down the street, one foot at a time. She clings to her walker, dented and bent, decorated with a single flower and the stickers of grandchildren seeking to brighten an old life. She moves with a graceful determination, traveling the sidewalks of another time, blue eyes peering unfocused and distant from beneath her sagging brow, as if her vision is now directed inward, revisiting better times. Her face is a road map of experience, a pencil sketch in love and loss and life renewed. And as she passes me, a ghost of a smile plays about her mouth and for a moment, I share her distant times, when love was eternal and they ran in the surf under a marmalade sky and promised they would always hold each other's hands, best friends forever.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
wondering why he woke up today
and announced he wanted to ride the ferris wheel.
It seemed like the world at the time.
But now, the world seemed small
next to the glittering, turning
wheel of fortune.
He sat down and buckled in,
careful to lock in tightly,
and looked back.
And even as his mother waved and smiled,
he wondered if he would see her again...
but how else would he reach the stars,
if he did not ride the great wheel into the sky?
Friday, February 11, 2011
glitters through the branches
on this cold, crystal morning
Rising and falling
in a melancholy chord,
notes echo in the air.
If you listen closely,
you can hear the crystals
tinkle their glass note melody
I did not see this singer
of winter cold arias...
only a flit of brown or
dull white feathers showed
as it moved its song
from branch to branch
asking each tree
to hurry green bright spring's
speedy return and
winter's speed demise.
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
tentatively...as if afraid
to let the world in
"What will they say?"
Her dressed only in
an old robe and slippers.
But the promise of spring
sung sweetly by the wind
from the back of a seaworn salmon
plying the whitecap waves of the river
and answered by the chorus of songbirds
celebrating the return of the sun,
slips in to stroke her time worn face
and she remembers...
She throws the window wide
and as the air swirls gently into her bare room,
old memories come alive in her heart,
of holding spring in her arms
and marveling at his
tiny hands and feet
and bluebonnet eyes.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
In the quiet of dark midnight
yellow petal moons
whisper of things not seen, but heard.
The east wind moves through the forest
curling around bare limbs,
murmuring encouragement to leaves yet to be.
The river moves quietly through grey mist,
singing softly of its travels
as it moves to join the sea.
The waves break upon the beach,
wailing their siren song, "come with me"
and explore the seven seas.
Nature's own musical plays
to a star-filled sky
and yet we sleep unknowning...
Monday, February 07, 2011
The dark seeds of winter,
cold and seemingly barren,
cradle the leaves of summer
in their souls.
Soon, small green soldiers
will march forth and stand at attention,
while robins sing revelrie
in an old oak tree.
Can you hear the branches cry,
"Adorn me now
in boughs of green and gold.
Let me bask in the yellow heat
of summer blue skies!!
Let me rise from my roots and become!!"
Ah, if it were only today,
and these grey mists and wet winter drops
would be vanquished and I
could hike the forest floor once more.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Remember seeing them on every corner, their lights beckoning to you on a dark night when your car just died and you're in need of rescue? Before cell phones, phone booths were an essential part of life. Salvation inside a glass box. Where's the drama of the chase, when the kidnappers have no booth to call you at as you bring the ransom monies on a wild goose chase? Remember the frustration of the missing yellow pages...even if the book was there, the pages you needed were always gone. Or the words conjured to your tongue by the hungry slot that just ate your last dime but failed to give you a dial tone.
Now it's just another fixture from yesteryear on the fast track to oblivion...travelling the same road as rotary phones and DOS computer systems...sometimes time just amazes me with the speed of change. I'm feeling my age today!
Saturday, February 05, 2011
There is a change in the air tonight, as if an old, worn door has closed for good, content with holding the cold memories of what might have been. In its stead, a new portal opens to a kalideiscope of possibilities, full of sweet promise and life. "Come forth and live your dreams!" beckons a voice from beyond the door. "Choose to be alive!"
For when we grow old, it is far better to cherish memories of a life lived with no regrets, than to think of what might of been. Better still to spend our twilight years, holding hands and smiling at our shared stories, as we rock in our chairs by the light of the yellow moon.
Cast iron gargoyles frowning at the rain
Cloaking the street in dark, mysterious gloom.
Black crow umbrellas streak through the night
Seeking shelter from the storm;
Wet feathers leaving small wakes in sidewalk puddles.
Anonymous faces peer from dark raincoats,
avoiding eye contact,
too hurried to stop to chat
on this lonely grey night.
Only the streetlamp speaks of sanctuary
and the warm heart of home.
Friday, February 04, 2011
Thursday, February 03, 2011
As the day moves forward, we begin to relax and more pieces of life break loose, peeling the brick and mortar of our tortoise shells away, as we let silly laughter and shared experience warm our hearts. We giggle at bad jokes, smile at secret triumphs and shake our heads in shared dismay, with exclamations of "can you imagine" and "you don't say." And we begin to draw closer as our lives intertwine in this shared experience.
And when it's time to go, we are forever sisters; connected at the hip of our souls. We exchange names and promises to get together again. And we each leave knowing that having shared this day, we will no longer walk alone in this world.