the maple
l o o s e n s its amber hush,
leaves drifting
in slow, deliberate strokes
around the bench
she sits
in her denim skirt
and beige sweater,
mittens cupping
the briskness
of the watercolor air
a small stack
of pale pumpkins
rests beside her~
soft autumn accents
in the muted scene
before her,
a watering can waits,
and from its spout
a rabble of butterflies
rises,
tiny brush marks
of wandering color
she gazes
to her left,
comfortable
in the silent drift
of leaves and wings~
perhaps letting her thoughts
l o o s e n
the way the season
does
An ember glow
candle smoke swirls
perfume in an empty room
warmth left in a chair.
A string still humming,
a bell trill trembling,
laughter down a hallway,
whispers of warmth in an ear.
An imprint in a pillow,
a crease in opened letter,
lipstick on a glass,
a fingerprint on a mirror.
Salt drying on skin,
dew drops caught in hair,
warmth left in an empty teacup,
an open hand cupping a wave.
An empty swing swaying
ripples ringing across a pond
grass stirring; the breeze gone,
a shadow slipping around a corner.
A hug still holding
eyes moving - eyelids closed
echoes of trembling voices
the silence can't swallow.
Scent without flower,
song without voice,
intense sense of feeling
that what's gone is here.
An ember,
an echo,
a glimmer,
a ripple
a gong—
Coming, going, staying,
leaving, lingering, wandering,
remaining on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some days it's a smooth stone
in my pocket,
certain and worn~
my fingers finding its edges
in the darkness.
Other days it is a match struck
against the wind—
a brief, defiant light
before the gust takes it.
Sometimes it is the silence
between two hands
not quite touching,
the space humming
with the ghosts of prayers
that never found their words.
And once, just once,
it was the hollow of a bird’s wing
cupping the air beneath it,
holding nothing,
holding everything,
as the sky rushed in.
Before we die, hope that we've lived all right
Not for ourselves alone, but others too
Enabling friends and lovers in the fight
Cupping hands to pray, push and pull them through
How many have sought God on our behalf,
Bid Him dispatch angels and daily bread?
Surely one who had warred for me, I laugh
Whether present now or currently dead
I could write them into verse, but rather
I'll send my warriors toward heaven
How cheering for me that they would bother
Broach the Holy portals, put a second
To dialogue with the Eternal one
Over me, and against the roaring gun
I love the smell of dew on the grass, when a new day has just begun. I love to watch the flowers as they turn their heads towards the Sun.
I love to hear the gentle whispers of the welcoming breeze.
I love to watch as it rustles through, the leaves upon the trees.
I love to watch the Angelic rays from the sun as they pierce through the branches of a tree. Creating a kaleidoscope of pretty shapes on the undergrowth for all to see.
I love to watch the clouds as they gracefully float on by, like fluffy balls of candyfloss complementing the blueness of the sky.
I love to hear the intenseness of the thunder, as it rumbles way up high. And the flashing from the lightening's rage, as it fork's across the sky.
I love to listen to the heavy rain as it bounces of the ground.
A harmonious, symphony of notes, with its own unique sound.
I love it when a rainbow grace our sky after the poring rain .
A masterpiece of pretty colours, cupping the earth in its domain.
There is beauty all around for those with eyes to see. Nature is magical, it is captivating, it is abundant and it is free.
We share our grief without language,
for we often cannot summon the words.
For our gestures give answers when voices fail.
Grief is shared many ways:
In a deep lingering, soul-searching gaze of eyes.
Gentle touches on arms or shoulders.
A deep long hug or embrace.
Teardrops shed with shudders and sobs.
Two hands gently cupping one with care.
Fingers brushing away the salt of tears.
Simple gatherings in sacred hush.
Soft subdued smiles, shared all around.
This is the sign-language of grieving,
that everyone knows, and feels without words.
My mother bathes her mother’s feet.
She kneels in quiet reverence,
Raising the one who raised her.
Hands cupping water as if it were holy.
Her hands speak a language older than words.
The language spoken by those who had not yet formed their own speech-
love, poured out in gesture.
My mother is light in shadowed rooms,
She moves like mercy,
She gives like breath.
In her presence,
I remember how to be whole.
She ministers through touch,
Anointing without oil,
Healing without command.
My mother is light before the dawn,
Love that does not boast,
Life that does not end.
In her is a glimpse of the divine.
but even judas kissed jesus.
and sometimes,
my mother’s hands-
those same hands that cupped water like blessing-
become vessels of betrayal.
she hears my sorrow,
then sharpens it,
folding my secrets into her mouth
only to spit them back like stones.
when the shadows are mine,
she is no light.
she names my ache weakness,
my stillness laziness,
my fear ungratefulness.
there is no holy water when i cry.
no anointing,
no mercy,
just the weight of her disappointment,
and the echo of her silence
where comfort should have lived.
My mother bathes her mother’s feet.
She kneels in quiet reverence,
Raising the one who raised her.
Hands cupping water as if it were holy.
Her hands speak a language older than words.
The language spoken by those who had not yet formed their own speech-
love, poured out in gesture.
My mother is light in shadowed rooms,
She moves like mercy,
She gives like breath.
In her presence,
I remember how to be whole.
She ministers through touch,
Anointing without oil,
Healing without command.
My mother is light before the dawn,
Love that does not boast,
Life that does not end.
In her is a glimpse of the divine.
Staring into the stratospheric abyss
Cumulus clouds swiftly drift along.
As I stand at a dusty precipice,
The white-hot heat of the sun beating down,
Microscopic gravel crunches beneath questioning feet.
A flood of overwhelming emotions washes forth,
Whilst a broken heart is drowning.
The last words you spat at me, stuck on repeat,
Play like a needle scratching a broken record.
Cupping my ears, I try to shut out the incessant noise,
But it just ricochets like emotional shrapnel,
Piercing into my tormented psyche.
Reliving the vital few seconds of a scene gone so wrong—
Have we somehow traveled past the event horizon,
Becoming an implosion of complete annihilation?
As the wind whips past, sending ripples through the air,
I frantically search the debris for answers.
Grasping at particles of dust—
Invisible atoms of desperation.
But they're unattainable.
It is to be our downfall,
Just as a resolution to this inquest
Disappears with the sun
As it wanes over the mourning horizon.
we rise
although gravity and time
may hold us in the cupping
of their hands
we rise in a plethora of dreams
escaping above the vents
of circumstance
we rise into the tent
of all embracing;
and as if, and but, and still
we rise into each contemplation
new as the reckoning
of togetherness
draws us to the breath
of our existence;
rising, always rising
to meet the air of every day
to stay through every
active play and to meet
what will become.
the beauty of this world so much,
that I must blink with astonishment
to hold back tears.
If I could not blink I fear,
sixty per cent of who I am,
would leave me, in abject eagerness,
to kiss the earth.
The whistling kettle calls to me.
Telling me it's time for tea
I grab my Tinkerbell mug off the shelf
As I try to decide what to have for myself
What flavor of brew should I steep into my cup?
Lemony and citrusy?
Minty and refreshing?
Earthy and nutty?
Fruity and floral?
Settling with vanilla spice,
A steamy waterfall
A hint of honey
To sweeten the pot
The sweet aroma rose up
Smelling sugary and sweet.
Cupping the potion
Raising it to my lips
Taking small sips
I felt the warmth
Course through my veins.
Washing away the stress
Replacing it with bliss
Like my mind is at a spa
Bathing in a hot spring.
For a moment, time froze.
The world stands still.
Embracing the peace
Brought by a cup of tea.
Rose wine days fill our tender moments
rose petal hours skipping on like a sigh
Rose dreams cupping my heart and yours
rose time kisses, sweet as honey
Rose love wrapped it amorous stares
rose twinkle fairy dust & Lovey-Dovey eyes
Rose darling whispers saying come close dear
Rose feelings of the soul oh how they smile
Roses on Valentine's Day,
Roses Roses, every day.
he's a sweet harmonica home Joe
soft steel raven, bending blues
dripping honey from her spoon
nothing quite says melancholy
like a harp in cupping wah-wah glow
for endless grooves, a winding show
playing Take Me Home Country Road
and Lennon's riff in Love Me Do
with gracious silk, a satin throw
a trip to the moon in a single note
around the cosmos, her kiss, I know
our love, warm lips, harmonica Joe
~~Can You Feel It~~
The rainbowed bubbles of hope in the air?
God's hands cupping the earth during
these days of a great scare?
It's time to realize that peanut brained scientists
and deceptive politicians,
Need a date soon with great-famed morticians!
Time to get your groove back, poets dear.
Your morning prayer include you promising to God,
you have had enough and give Him all your fears.
It's perfectly fine to bend your knee in the humblest
of a genuflection.
And realize we truly live in a world headed for peace
and perfection!
Good signs, dear poets, are seen everywhere!
But it's up to you to acknowledge the reality of them
actually being there!
Now, get out of the darkness and your hibernation.
It's up to each of us, to be freed from-madness~
sttart living yout life in full satisfaction!
4/22/2023
Her curves are seductive,
Her purr radioactive
Quite the lady by day, sultry vixen at night,
A head turning beauty, a heart stopping sight.
She's no wilting flower, alluring and coy,
Aloof yet inviting, her masterful ploy;
To gaze is to want her, for most a rare dream,
Like hands cupping water from a fast-moving stream.
But to us the most blessed
With her so obsessed
She's an object of joy,
Sublime art form - no toy.
By and by as we share
She shows us to dare
To join in her verve
And prove we deserve.
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