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
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
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
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
Opportunity stretches
between the ages and beyond
A Centerpiece
An Ambassador
A Student
of life
no restrictions to their encounters
Their heritage fosters memories
A lifetime transforms
us all
This poem was written from a blackout poem. All words were borrowed from a magazine article.
my senses are a time machine
they lasso me back to the 80’s
to my childhood
whether it is a summer morning
lit up with bright sunshine
being serenaded by the cardinals’ melodies
I am sent back to summer break riding my bike to the pool
or an October evening with an Autumn breeze as warm as June
my footsteps crunching down the block
I am sent back and a smile grows across my face.
Now, it is the fireplace aroma grabbing me
with lightening speed back to winter break
sledding in frigid air on metal disks
and the late afternoon dim light
I see the tiny white lights on the trees
lined down the village streets
the warmth of this memory hugs me
my bank is full
it is almost bursting at the hinges
my senses are the combination that unlocks my safe
its contents remind me
life is good!
Autumn is a baker who uses sprinkles
She generously adds her vibrant touches
A spray of bright red on the top
or a smattering of yellow dripping down the sides
her arborous cupcakes come in many shapes
The maples reach up to her to receive their colorful christening
The oaks drip down with hued leaves
Our eyes delight in the transformation of seasons
It is a pleasure we embrace before the bakery is empty
Winter will soon arrive and spraypaint her colorless glitter
Poetry 