She moves barefoot through the rain,
a small bright wanderer
with petals stitched along her hem
and more gathered in her hand,
an umbrella blooming
against the soft-falling sky.
Color drifts around her
in gentle, shimmering sheets,
as if the weather itself
has learned her palette
and paints the world
to keep her company.
Her fine hair lifts
in the hush of the rainfall,
a quiet banner of childhood
unfurling behind her
as she hurries forward,
certain of her own delight.
Nothing startles her joy~
not the wet earth,
not the wind’s cool whisper,
not the sky’s bright spill.
She walks as though the world
were made for her small wonder,
and for a moment,
it is.
I step outside as the day thins beyond the balcony,
noticing how the wind nudges the empty ,chairs,
and how the last warmth fades from our cups.
A sparrow startles somewhere beyond the balcony,
its small flutter drifting between the chairs,
as if it, too, recalled the hands that once lifted these cups.
I breathe in that faint sweetness hovering near the balcony,
thinking of the conversations that lived inside these chairs,
the way morning warmth once rose from our cups.
Evening drifts onto the balcony, touching the stillness of the chairs and glancing off the cups.
aging startles in small ways~
a soft turning of the heart,
a sudden shimmer of truth
I didn’t know
I was ready for.
You may read the companion personal narrative piece at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/surprise_13936
Scamper perches on the oak’s thin wrist,
tail curled like a question mark
he hasn’t quite asked yet.
Morning light spills over him,
and he blinks as if the sun
has just whispered something
he’s not sure he’s ready to hear.
He studies an acorn
as though it contains
the blueprint of being~
turns it, weighs it,
presses his nose to its quiet shell
and wonders, Why does anything grow at all?
He pauses mid-sprint
to consider the wind:
Why does the wind come?
Why does it leave?
Why does it never stay long enough
to explain itself?
Sometimes he stares at the sky
with a seriousness
that startles the blue~
as if he’s trying to decide
whether the clouds are wandering
or simply lost.
And when dusk gathers
its purple shawl,
he sits on the fence rail,
small paws folded,
asking the last question of the day~
the one even the trees
lean in to hear:
What does a life mean
when all its moments
are this brief
and this bright?
I came with light cupped in my hands,
not stolen—no—
but kindled slow through nights
sun set the guards had watched.
And those who knew my childhood name
stood in the doorway,
arms folded with the memory
of who I used to be.
Is this now the man, they whispered,
of a past.
Who stumbled over simple things?
Who are we to call him what he is today —
quoting text
when we recall his yesterdays?
So truth knocked gently—
not with thunder,
not with flame—
but like a man returning home
with something fragile in my chest.
And they did not open up nor did they set me free.
For honor is a distant bird—
it nests in foreign trees,
it sings for listening strangers,
it startles at familiar hands.
And I, unwelcomed in their place
that taught his voice its sound,
turned not bitter—only quiet—
and carried what was given me
to those who had no memory
to stand against belief.
There is a sorrow in it—
but also a kind of freedom:
I stood measured
by those who remembered my beginning,
and by those who can see what I have now become.
Like the small bird in the garden tree
Its world full of startles, alarms, and fear
Its predators all around and ever present
The pulsing of the cat’s paw is always there
On the narrow human road of human fear
Satan’s demons and half humans are always near
Requiring constant vigilance to keep terrors at bay
From the shadows and darkness and death of the day
Angel’s and saint’s hearts always beat fast
Navigating the narrow road of fear
Listening and watching alert to all those who pass
Keeping God’s protective presence ever focused and clear
When the sun shines
After the rain
I remember…
When the stars smile
Despite the dark
I remember…
When the forests sigh
Amid the clouds
I remember…
When the night falls
Silencing the sun
I remember….
When the winter comes
After the fall
I remember…
When the music plays
In notes so small,
I remember…
When the grief suffers
Beyond the graveside
I remember…
When the fear startles
And a scream is heard
I remember…
When the love begins
Without end
I remember…
You are with me,
Through it all
And, my Friend…
I praise You, adore You
Write all my words for You
Thank You, God…
Without You, I’m lost
Without You, I’m not
Without You, I’m what…
I never wanted to be,
A dark, a shadow, a grief
But with You, I see…
The love that lives in me
The love that You stirred
The Love from Your word
Thank You, God…
For revealing to me
A love that set my soul free!
t sounds like there is an angry conductor in heaven
Loud crashing and banging that startles me
Was it supposed to rain tonight? I ask my echo dot.
She verifies that thunderstorms are expected
They are here now; it is frighteningly angry-sounding.
Did monsters escape from the bowels of hell and go up there?
Another loud clang of a giant symbol makes me wonder about electricity.
Will it be going out? This often happens during storms like this one.
It sounds like a Ferris wheel has collapsed.
Without people, for there is no screaming.
Only the loud angry thuds of destruction.
I visualize people being carried away downstream
It seems to me
when I’m out and about
that crowds are getting smaller
when the chit-chats are heard less and less
and the kids run away with no spoon
It surprises me
when grannies roll away
when neighbors are not in want of anything
when bullies decide to bully each other
when the postman never rings even once, ever
It startles me
when buses and trains don’t run during peak hours
when twenty-three-hour restaurants are closed
when the local hospital is out of town
when I dial 911, I hear a recording, “The number you’ve dialed has never been in service!”
It stuns me
when my family doesn’t know me
when my spouse ain’t heard of me, giving me the ringless finger
when I knock on my neighbor’s door, they knock me out
when I go to the confessional, there’s a recording from a local law firm giving me legal advice
It shocks me
when my best friend became my worst enemy
when my worst enemy became friends with Hannibal Lecter
when I pray to heaven, the bible falls on the floor
and when I said, “What the hell was that!”, there was a knock at the door.
ME:
Deja vu-
It startles me at times.
Like a mirror, coming before me;
A conversation
An interaction
Almost anything-
Exact in every detail
As I lived it before.
I am mesmerized,
Asking myself-
How does this happen?
COSMOS:
All is saved in the
Mirrored Galaxy of Life.
There are four walls in
Four-Dimensional Space-Time.
Like a mirror, they safeguard
Your beginning to end
With images from your
Birth,
Childhood,
Adulthood
and Death-
Saved from every second
Of your life in this Universe.
The mirror of your life,
Inside the Gallery of Time
Of the Space-Time Continuum,
Forever and Ever in
Four-Dimensional Space-Time.
ME:
Where somehow, seconds escape
As real-time mirrored rays
To reflect again in my mind?
COSMOS:
Yes.
Cloaked in a fitting grey suit and bow tie,
She floats like paper kites across meadows.
From a hollow in a tree, her eyes pry~
Her loud hoot startles nearby sleeping crows.
The spectral owl, with her faint, surprised look,
Watches as the crows flee into the dark.
Then silence reigns, curbed only by a brook,
And chirps of birds in the dark forest park.
Within calm meadows nestled in the hills,
The great grey owl sights frogs, snakes, and mudfish.
She floats on broad wings, drawn by hunger’s thrills~
A feast just enough to grant her one wish.
As dusk gives way to the coming sunlight,
To a hidden branch, she flew for a nap~
To await the call of another night,
And avoid the birder’s photograph trap.
A-rush
In a feather ruffling frenzy
cooling the flamboyant sunrise
muffling the warblers
with waffling winds
chilling the audience
in an ice-like stare
your shivery essence
ricochets through the canyon
startles the cliffs
bellows amid the echoes
of yesteryears challenge
stirs a red dust devil
they call you cold, December
for they are frail
and cannot bear the sting
of Winter’s hoary kiss
Beau my young dog gazes toward the west
He stands, barks, and runs up the driveway
He comes back from the east
Meaning he has circled the house
He stares at me
plunks down and puts his head on his front paws
I hear other dogs barking
At least two, from the south
Beau does not seem to notice them
A loud rough bark from my right startles me
It is Buddy, my big dog; I did not know he was there
He begins running up the driveway, Beau chases him
They are barking as if bandits with machetes are up there
Lopping off the neighbor’s heads and feet.
They come back from the east,
With long tongues and happy smiles.
weird bird tweet
cheep cheep cheep
traffic in the distance
barely perceptible breeze
rooster crow
dogs chase squirrel
his get away is lickety split
up a hickory tree
wind chimes a merry melody
smell of autumn leaves
a far off conversation
drowned out by ambulance siren
motorcycle engine revs
trill of another bird
I soak up the sunshine
feeling safe in Vitamin D
dog’s gruff bark startles me
his pal runs off the porch
air conditioner kicks on
the only sound now except the wind chime
gentle sounds of an October day at noon
Sun surprises moon
Startles her with light and flame
Frightens her away
Then spreads wide his arms
And creates a new morning
Miracle complete
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