The wounds are tender
Daily life wears away at the scars on my heart
Memories of you help me heal
But through salty tears
They sting
Memories also make the sting burn more
All the firsts without you are especially painful
Will the hurt lessen as time passes?
Is this pain the price I pay for you gracing my life?
They say we cannot embrace our blessings
Without heartaches
Grief; it is devastating
But I wouldn’t give it up
If I had to trade away my life with you.
morning greets me with a pink smear across the sky
As the sun glows on the horizon
Golden hues
pale blues
Slate grays
Are all added to the canvas
The winter tree tops appear as foggy ghosts, blurring the landscape
In the chilly air, I feel the presence of love
It fills the emptiness in my heart
The sun’s angle creates a dimness to my eye
A pink hue paints the sky
The snow glistens in Winter’s obscurity
Causing the cold to permeate the darkness with an odd security
On the snow covered fields, small animals prance
Leafless trees are almost transparent at first glance
The white in the darkness blankets the landscape
Nostalgia emerges among the cold, crisp air to take shape.
Turn the page on your next chapter
Don’t change; evolve
Crawl out of your personal sludge
If tears are shed, turn another page
Relish in what grows smiles
Push a boulder to close your cave
Emerge from your own shadows
Into the sunshine of chapter next
Look back only when you need to refuel
When the tank is running low, turn yet another page
Don’t let this chapter end unfinished or too soon
A reminder of love when hope is lost
A childish behavior at times works our nerves
But when we need to find our way back
We long, we cry, we agonize
Lost in the darkness of our darkness
Where are Zuzu’s petals?
A journey through despair with tinges of purpose
In the end, an epiphany on life, “I want to live again!“
He answers with the dried,velvety legacy in your pocket
The shadow overtakes the foliage like a painter’s brush blotting the darker hues in the pallet.
Blots of deep green run across the leaves as they reach for the train.
The train is an infant’s mother. Rocking and rocking.
Heads bob along.
The loud hums of the engine drown out the sounds of the city.
My eyes scan the the storefronts, the outdoor cafes, the strollers and dog walkers.
What is on their agenda for the day?
With whom are they meeting?
Are they strolling through this autumn day or following a daily routine.
Music plays through my earbuds
Thoughts of daily deadlines swirl through my mind.
The announcement reminds me of my approaching destination.
My day begins as I long await another unraveling story during my evening commute.
We fight on…
50 years have been erased as some try to cancel “she”
Will WE ever again be heard?
Yes! Our fight has been renewed, the
Message of our inequality will whir
Over and over, travel east to west, the sound of
Our voices will resemble a parrot
Our strength will give power to our traveling wings.
Peonies of pink are a childhood foundation.
An angel who is not fueled by regulation
Treats and trinkets you lavished upon your every growing tribe
Remembering infinitesimal dates of others used to describe
Into generations your memory will take hold of
Children were the propeller of your love
I miss you daily while your photograph I gaze
Absence of you is my minotaur’s maze
Another poetic year has come to an end
We must say, “farewell and see you again”
I’m in awe of the talent that surrounds
Our infective adoration has lured many into our compound
Poetry is their medicine
Their cure
Their source of relief
A special place to express their disbelief
The power of words is our artistry
Please join us in the uncharted seas of Poetry
A poem in honor of my poetry club as we end for the school year.
Spring mornings, the sun blushes
The sky fills with her pink shimmer
She is Mother Nature’s beginner
Not only does she signal the start of my day
But also she announces the Earth to awaken
The tips of the branches have undertaken
The soil can no longer hold back the sprouts
However there remains some holdouts
They know Mother Nature changes her mind
In April she is temperamental
Yet this early Spring tease is transcendental
Poetry 