I took a mountain ride
Scenes unfolded before my eyes
beneath widespread, deep, blue skies
It was the perfect place to hide
Far away from stress and obligations
In a world of colorful trees
Showing off before a deep freeze
Nature has its own intentions
I could smell Autumn at my fingertips
Red berries were shining in the sun
A decorated forest was full of fun
As the elevation released hardships
I drove away and I said, goodbye
I am grateful for all that it gave me
Everything that I experienced, all to see
Until next time, waiting for me to fly
Heidi Sands
9/24/26
(C)opyright
You’re a whisper on my lips
The taste of my yearning
A feeling on my fingertips
A side I’m still learning
I’m out of my habitat
It’s got me so nervous
My heart still does acrobats
Whenever you surface
You linger like rain
Right after a storm
Your absence is pain
It’s now the new norm
You take me up higher
God hears me pray
Your love fuels my fire
I can’t stay away
You’re the beat in my chest
You’re the air that I breathe
I can’t lie I’m obsessed
Cuz you set my heart free
No matter the distance
No matter the time
I’ll fight the resistance
So you’ll always be mine
I can’t let you go
I won’t set you free
It’s time I let you know
The hold you have on me
Cuz you’re a whisper on my lips
The taste of my yearning
A fire at my fingertips
So let’s keep on burning..
When setting out to write this verse
I came under the abominable 'ho-hum' curse
of the unfathomable dreaded writer's block
as the muse of opportunity refused to knock
completely void the brain pulled a blank
running on fumes with an empty tank
and of inspiration there was none
in the hot seat I was under the gun
in my mind's eye and at my fingertips
strange to say words could not pass my lips
altho' I can go one better I know
a short poem from me today would be... 'Po'
I have my dictionary, a thesaurus and a laptop filled with billions of pieces of information at my fingertips. There’s a staggering amount of words and combinations of words hidden in my keyboard. Like scrabble pieces spread out on the table, all I need to do is pull them out in the right order, at the right time, and with the right flow to create the right image. Aah, this should be easy.
writing is easy
getting your words to make sense
is the hardest part
It looks like a yo-yo
so it should spin round and round
going every which way
when I throw it down
it feels like a yo-yo
so it should whirl to beat the band
it's right here at my fingertips
but it's out of hand
I call him Duncan
and want to see him loop the loop
go round the world walk the dog
rock the baby and do the sleeper too
but he can push a person
past the point of no return
and what will I do then
when will I ever learn
why my yo-yo won't go yo
when I let it go
it drops to the bitter end of the string
but won't come back
or do anything
no it's a bust I just don't know
why my yo-yo won't go yo
Caffeine vapor billows
blowing with the raindrops
the ceiling says
my body wanders
to a part of nowhere
glowing like a warm air
as if it were true
The reflection of the latte under the yellow light
the foam forms a crescent
like the curve of your smiling eyes
Petrichor tonight is so foreign
because only the gentle wind
between your body is familiar to me
I begin to enjoy the thunder
thundering beats
rhythmically
with the same beats
like an album cliché at my fingertips
jumping from time to time
Raindrops intertwined with nostalgia
melancholic rhythm
irony and romance
instantly combined
now flowing away
i want to be back there,
i want to sit on the edge.
to feel myself let go just little enough to stay,
for my parents, friends, pets, for them i will stay
i know i am loved but it’s hard to feel truly loved when you don’t know if you love yourself.
i might fall off,
but for tonight, ill watch the moon rise, play with the sand and rocks at my fingertips, and i will know what it means to be happy with no cares, with the wind caressing my face.
where i can stay on that edge,
i want to be back there.
For years I had an idea in my head
You came along and brought it to life
I watched my thoughts and words take form of a human
Dreams of romance and adoration truly breathed
I was in awe
Something so far was finally at my fingertips
You were real
That was the best time of my life
I hate myself for taking it for granted
Because now,
It was all just a dream
The ashes of your ghost still roam within a sea of roses.
Breathing you in, I try to reach through the veils,
yet to no avail.
The bitter emptiness is all I can feel.
The Fates keep taunting, teasing~
in the dead of night, your voice still lingers,
preventing slumber from taking hold.
The ticking of clocks infects my broken psyche,
hallucinations tangle me within what used to be our sheets.
Breathing in your scent, exhaling demons~
without you, the devil whispers.
Temptation takes hold,
fire flows through transforming veins.
Lilith’s fury poisons any humanity that was left.
Levitating from the bed, rebirth is at hand.
Cutting into my chest,
the heart becomes the heartless.
Electricity pulses beneath rippling flesh,
destruction now at my fingertips.
Grief begets hate.
Now watch as the world burns,
as I become my own martyr.
I have power at my fingertips,
Hands that scratch lyrics on paper.
A story I once knew -
Now it’s just art.
Rhythms. Twists.
Stanzas, words -
Cut and placed with care.
The poet is me - simple, complex.
Layers, knots -untold.
Pieces of who I am, what I represent.
Each word a fragment.
Some shared, others buried.
I say too much,
Then veil it behind smoke and shadows.
I don’t want to be a poem.
I’ve been silent too long,
Moulded for others -
A statue with cracks too deep to fill.
But my story?
It’s mine.
Words take shape in my hands,
Soft as wax, fierce as flames.
You can praise me.
Despise me.
Think I’m broken,
Or the answer - your angel in disguise.
But don’t lock me down.
I’m fluid. I shift.
Not always good. Not always bad.
I’ve disappointed enough.
But still, I breathe fire.
Still, I let the ink drip,
Every word a piece of my spine.
Look closer, if you dare.
My phone is my connection to the world
All my friends text me
Every single day
Influencers tell me what to think, do, and say
Everyone I admire is here with one click
Movies are at my fingertips
From the time I wake up
Until late at night
I'm glued to my phone
Oh what a sight
Momma says," Put away your phone.
You're missing out!"
How can that be
I can see every music video
Medication for when I'm sick
Even clothes to wear
Thats pretty slick
If I have a question
My phone will second guess me
Sends information from across the web
Matches my browsing while I am in bed
Momma says," The influencers are instigators and don't let you think.
All the text messages
Are repeats and stink.
If you want to see the world,
Give it a whirl without your phone.
You might be surprised,
At what you will find!"
Hath the wind that carries the leaves tire from the sweeping movement
Wilt the season soon come to an end?
What hath the sun shining its warmth on a white pedal decide when to stop
Whither the soft wind topple the daisy from its stem?
The beauty of nature at my fingertips
Glowing in its natural state
Created with love and care for the eye to see.
Hath the wind that carries the leaves tire from the sweeping movement
Wilt the season soon co.e to an end?
What hath the sun shining its warmth on a white pedal decide when to stop
Whither the soft wind topple the daisy from its stem?
The beauty of nature at my fingertips
Glowing in its natural state
Created with love and care for the eye to see.
I consider myself a technologically savvy old geezer. With a simple utterance of “Hey Google, show me cute puppy videos” my world is filled with hours of mindless entertainment. I can do Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Linked-In about as well as any old-fashioned Neanderthal. With all this modern-day technology at my fingertips you’d think my need for paper and pen would be overcome. Not true. All this technology represents the one thing that destroys my creativity. ‘DISTRACTIONS’. Maybe it’s the fact that a pen or a pencil can only do one thing. Transfer my thoughts to paper. No puppies sliding down a snow-covered hill, what’s the weather in Outer Mongolia, or share this photo and God will send you money. There is just me, a pencil and a clean sheet of paper. Nothing creates inspiration more than a sharp Ticonderoga #2 pencil or a fine point red stick pen. Or maybe it’s just that my addled old brain gets so easily sidetracked by shiny baubles.
We shall overcome
unless we’re distracted first—
Oooh cute baby goats
I inhaled,
and the breeze flourished upon my skin,
I exhaled,
and the grass prickled at my fingertips,
I loved,
and the world exploded with its wonders,
I cried,
and I got sucked into the ink adding wonder to your pages,
Dark,
Aglow with beauty.
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