There's something
Special about May and me.
As we approach the end of May,
And as June at our doorsteps lay,
There's a thing or two I'd like to say.
From time to time along the line of life,
May has been a springboard,
A diving board,
A starting point,
A launching pad,
A gateway,
To a life of work and purpose,
Disconnecting me from childhood play.
May contains the dismay I felt on the day
of my dad's demise when I was 13.
May houses my graduations
From elementary, high school, and college.
May documents my final preparations for
My upcoming June wedding day.
May records the day I left home at 17
To start a life of my very own.
May reveals the priceless snapshot
Of mom, grandma, and my 8 younger
Siiblings waving goodbye to me.
As I think and muse about the month of May,
I am permiated by things that were sometime grey.
But I also see a key unlocking a host of precious memories. I tell you, There's really something special between May and me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Footprints in fresh snow~
halting near my front doorsteps,
then turning away.
The moon sees what I cannot:
God appeared in the moonlight.
The gods are returning home again
Home again, home again,
Into the waters of these playful streams
Into the cascades of falling stars
Into the foaming glitter over lost dreams.
The gods are returning home again
Into the un-peace of this possible place
Dancing on the doorsteps of a neighbouring universe
Collecting flocks they gather grace
At the scum sketched shore.
The gods are returning home again
The pounding of their feet is heard once more
On the husks of the clouds above the gardens
In these watercoloured hills.
The gods are returning home again
Thumping, thumping, home again
Over the mush fields of mindless country men,
The gods are coming home again, my dear
The gods are coming home again I hear.
"Lights out," Momma said.
"It's time for bed."
But it's too early,
I'm feeling squirrely.
"Pull your covers up," Momma said.
"Don't wiggle around so much."
Waiting until full dark,
I prepare to go out for a lark.
Throwing the blankets back.
Carefully creating a stack.
When Momma looks inside,
She'll think I'm asleep underneath to hide.
Slowly creeping across the floor,
I open the door.
No shoes upon my feet,
Makes it easier to creep.
Down the back doorsteps,
And around the corner.
"Get back in bed!
Thats an order!"
About dropped my tongue,
Scared me so much.
Crept back to bed,
As fast as I dared.
No lark for me tonight,
Momma caught my flight.
Standing in this shadow of a life
cloaked in my ancestors grief
A potential seized by panic, and insecurity
I'm questioning
Were all of our footsteps frozen
There was a time we fought but that spark was put out by a liquid dream they sold us to quiet our spirit
It split our tounges and turned us against our loved ones
It is us who became the enemy
Our bravery died a thousand deaths
Leaving our hearts on our doorsteps
We've since been taught to run away
But I still hear the drums pulsing in my chest like a heartbeat
Stork felt grumpy now that rules had changed completely
My job used to be easy, I did it on time, and it was sweetly
But these days I am bogged down with extra things to drop
My knees are feeling bad, and it takes me twice as long to stop.
Maybe it is because you are older, a young stork had nerve to say.
This did not make him want to be in conversation with him the next day.
In the sixties, dropping babies at doorsteps had been so much fun
When he was agile, not fragile, on time and young.
It's not easy being a cat, you know
They say we have nine lives
But truth be told, like you, we have but one
In my personal life, in my odyssey to the road of being loved
I purred many days and nights on doorsteps until I found the warmest hands
Sleeping 'neath the stars many a night, thinking to myself...
"There must be someone out there"
Someone out there who will shelter me, care for me, and love me
Someone out there that is kind and thoughtful
Someone out there, for Christ sakes- that likes cats!
Well, my quest for finding love had finally come
And trust me, it was well worth the wait
When Ms. C brought me in,
I knew that I had finally found the "Purrfect" home
The unconditional love that she gives to me...
Wags my tail in motions that even I didn't know existed
Now, I look at those same stars at night, thinking to myself...
"It's so nice to be a cat"
I don't know if I will ever have nine lives
But one thing for certain is that I lived two
One very scary and lonely life...
And one very loving and beautiful life
All thanks, to Ms. C
And for her wonderful kindness...
To cats, like me
Orange blooms at dusk
goblins in the pumpkin patch
rich fall's come again
ghosts haunt dark cool nights
scarecrows wave in harvest fields
sad trees weep colors
devils on doorsteps
trick or treat candy cane lane
warm fireside cider
gaudy, red nosed clown
creeping like sun going down
when wind is howling
*not for contest
Time to enjoy Autumn, until the last leaf falls
All the colors that embrace us
Special gifts that surround us
Crisp apples waiting to be picked
Pumpkins smiling on doorsteps
Time to enjoy Autumn, fresh air with its scent
The water before it turns to ice
The grass before the snow falls
The wildlife before they hibernate
Autumn's transition allowing us to be all we can be
- In a world full of colors, waiting to be seen -
Heidi Sands
9/27/23
There's a word for it;
One of my favorite words;
It often crosses my mind
as is the case presently.
But it always evades me.
Its meaning seems to always
find space in my life's spear,
and I'd be pleased if I could
retain it for good usage.
But it always evades me.
It often walks onto the doorsteps
of my mind and camps out at
the doorway of my heart.
But it always evades me.
It is a physics kind of word
that speaks of time and space,
of being in a state of indecision
or immobilization, only to be mobilized
or influenced by an outside force.
But it always evades me.
If I shall ever recall it again,
I must document and shelter it in a
special place so that I can utilize
it at will. That word fits my life and
circumstances like a customized garment.
But it always evades me.
053123PS
You're so pale and your walk stutters
with all the loads you carry on your shoulders.
Don't be so shy to let it show,
'cause I just want you to know:
When the whole world seems to grapple you down,
and your feet could hardly hold their ground,
I'll be right there, waiting on your doorsteps,
to help you set the track of your footsteps.
I'm your guardian angel, I'll always be around.
I'll be the grip of your feet on the ground.
I'll be your guide on a winding, devious way.
I'll be the safe place where you can stay.
March 12, 2023
You Say Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Brian Strand
I like the old buildings,
the weathered brick,
the worn down doorsteps sanded
by a century of shuffling feet,
the musty smells from
old bond stores and hotel
cellars wafting up through
grates along the street.
I like the defiance
of the old façades,
how they hang on
beneath layers of gaudy paint,
the names and dates
embossed on buildings
refusing to be rubbed out,
the held dignity of a stone wall,
desecrated by graffiti
yet still standing straight.
I like the late night
peace and quiet
that settles along the lanes
and back streets
of the old port,
places only the locals know,
home to the ghosts
of washed-up sailors
and the lost souls
who have nowhere
else to go.
March's dreariness looms
when no pigeon coons,
it grieves at spring's doorsteps
not willing to pass the baton,
resisting to give in until its frown
vanishes into the brightness of sun rays!
March is wilder than storms,
it can retain its brutality,
even being mean to Nature
which knows how badly it behaves,
letting lose its frightening madness
that viciously destroys wilderness;
how vile is it to withdraw from mindfulness,
continuing the brief journey
into time swifter than a hunted creature!
March has no time for debates,
it wrecks everything in its path...
scattering branches on faded meadows
that await stillness, not chaos;
when icy winds blow hard, it's a threat:
stay inside, grab a pen and write poems!
March is fierce and increases fears,
its awareness of limitations is indisputable;
it chooses viciousness and pretends to be invincible;
March snatches your umbrellas, chuckles, and sneers!
March's dreariness looms for very long,
it can be broken with a cheerful song!
colorful doorsteps
as autumn knocks at the door...
leaves blown by wind's breath
Heidi Sands
9/12/22
Placed 2nd in the Autumn in Nature Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Checked by Howmanysyllables.com
All men are created equal
All men are women in the womb
With babies born inside their minds
Delivered in flight by penguin equity
All women are men with inverted appendages
Who have pronouns instead of names
Amazon drops off packages at their doorsteps
On purpose, special deliveries
At the end of the flat Earth streets
No matter what gender you are
You are a pregnant superstar
Companies come in the morning to give birth
Not to Jesus but to rainbow coalitions
On the condition that you step outside yourself
Follow them to a world of fluffy stuff
Full of marshmallows, unicorns and Oreo cookies
Oreo says, “Transgenders exist”
A cookie fixation, that’s the fix
Steeped in power, keeping the clouds at bay
Vanilla is a way to stay happy happy joy joy
Everyone comes in one size, supersize
One must keep an open mind to be woke
One must wake up first to be Woke
A condition that has no cure at first
Until someone gives birth on the sly
Not knowing who or why
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