I am the breath of teardrops drying
A whisper coaxed awak’ning on rippled pond
Shadows creeping amid the grey stones
Concealing both prey and predator
A faint kiss to lift the butterflies aloft
Caress the wafting scent of budding roses
A shiver on the sweaty back of toil
A riffling of leaves still wet at dawn
A gladdened moment dancing with a feather
The dusty face of tumbleweeds at play
I am the humming voice of towering pines
That eerie whine amid the canyon stones
I am a sound e’er present in the silence
A gentle hint that life is everywhere
What moves you to cry
A memory’s touch or scent passing by
So many things that are just a glint
That nudges you as a gentle hint
Some scenes remain in your memory
Stamped there forever for you to see
To live again in all their glory
A part of your life and ongoing story.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Some children open the door of their rooms
Dressed in a uniform
Knowing their day instantly.
Because it is the same day as yesterday
And the day before
And the day before the day before.
Bealeen never knew what would happen
When she opened the door to a cupboard
Or the door to her room
Sometimes there were hints like fur coats
Or a winter scene,
Other times it was up to her to improvise.
Her parents, being magical,
Wanted to see how she would react
So they constantly threw her gentle hints
About what her day would be
One gentle hint came in dragon form
And she was nearly eaten,
Not being quite ready for that one.
Her grandmother kept asking them
To allow her a little bit of stability
But they wanted her to know nothing of that
And they insisted she should always be ready.
Today she opened the door to her room
And faced a firing squad. No one is ready for that!
The Scented Soul
I have encountered it before
wafting upon the breeze of life,
scent trail of a spirit’s being
aglow amid tormented night.
Phosphorescence of angel wings
flickering light of neon signs
celestial stick and apple chase
in search of colors without lines.
Thus does the gentle hint of spring
divulge the sweetness of bouquet
awakening from frozen heart
the prayers that icy hearts betray
attracted to the scent of soul
to bathe within its golden bowl.
Submitted to The Scent of Your Soul – Poetry Contest
Sponsor – Anthony Slausen
10/12/2014
spring
gently unfurls tender leaves
hinting at her return
She blew a sigh of Summer wind
A breeze to taste the air
A cooling mist a feeling missed
A gentle hint of rain
Sunlight filtered through the leaves
To settle on her face
There was no way
This lady fey
Was of the human race
I shivered in the Summer heat
Pine needles sticking in my feet
Sweat wet tee shirt
Sudden chill
She moved in close to take her fill
Whispered wood songs almost heard
Sweet chatter rings of myriad birds
Then stroked my palm
And disappeared