Bubble sucking lungs
Dual life wet wigglers
Teapot hiding spot ?
a single breeze slips by~
a warm hush of late day
carrying light the way
memory drifts~
quiet, unhurried.
Spare a thought for tiny penny,
how sad those folks that haven't any.
It's the smallest coin of the realm
and made of copper, like a charm.
Those who don't even have a stitch
they could become immensely rich
if only others to them brought
a shiny penny for each thought.
A tip
A top
A spinning
tiny
top.
Pink and black.
Go round and round.
Don’t stop.
A speck of dust upon the moss,
A tiny life the breezes toss,
Too small for any passing eye,
Beneath the wide and heavy sky.
It has no stem to proud upright,
No brilliant petals catching light,
No perfume drifts across the lake,
Where sleeping frogs and ripples wake.
Yet Wolffia drifts, a microscopic dot,
Upon the still pond's quiet spot,
No roots to anchor in the silt,
No green and spreading leaves to wilt.
A speck of green, a simple grain,
Untouched by heavy summer rain,
Two grains of salt could match its weight,
So small it mocks the grand and great.
Through needle eyes its frame could slide,
Like quiet hurts we lock inside,
A single stamen, lonely fruit,
An empire built without a root.
The busy bee goes buzzing by,
To seek the garden's painted crowd,
And misses where the treasure lies,
Concealed from all impatient eyes.
Whole ages fade and cities rust,
While mountains crumble into dust,
The loudest voices fade away,
Like shadows at the end of day.
For greatness is not born of might,
Or standing tallest in the light,
The weary heart can still endure,
With quiet steps, and purposes pure.
tiny feet patter
she scampers across kitchen
chasing cheerio
God’s morning paints the world in gold,
and little birds begin to sing~
they know His love wakes everything.
Quiet wind tiptoes through the trees,
whispering blessings as they pass~
tiny prayers in dewy grass.
Ocean's
tiny island
spring nest twigs gathered by
indigo bird with crown of white
ready
Girl elf was proud of her teensy tiny tottering Christmas Tree
The rest of the world could make fun, love was all she could see
She had chopped it out of the forest, taking it from its mother
I will love this tree forever, she told her amused older brother
A tiny tugboat chugs along,
And hums a happy, smoky
song.
It pulls the giant ships to
shore,
Through ocean waves that
crash and roar,
Because its iron heart is
strong.
O little cat with gentle eyes,
You greet the dawn before I even rise.
Your quiet purr brings peace to me,
As calm and soft as a morning sea.
Through every day, both bright and gray,
You chase my lonely thoughts away.
Your playful heart, your loving grace,
Bring warmth and joy to every place.
teardrops are shape-shifters,
changing the instant
they slip free~
tiny pilgrims
already seeking
what they’ll become next.
spiders collect some of them,
drinking them delicately,
then spinning our sorrow
into silver webs
that glisten like forgiveness
in morning light.
some harden into marbles~
miniature worlds of color
swirled from emotion~
grief becoming something
you can hold
without breaking.
some rise as pixie dust
soft as breath,
bright as mischief~
the raw material
of small miracles.
some drift upward as moonbeams
their heaviness forgotten,
their ache turned silver
as they join the quiet
of the night sky.
some sew themselves into wings
effervescent, glowing~
the soft architecture
of angels
who know what it means
to fall and rise again.
and the rarest tears
vibrate together~
a trembling chorus
that becomes stardust,
then dreams,
then the gentle light
that guides us home.
For Mother’s and Father’s day this year Deborah and I received
two home-made cards…with a deep meaning we both understand:
A flower card for Deborah…and PopPop corn one for me
imprinted with Violet, our great-granddaughter’s tiny hands.
Any parent, grandparent or great-grandparent knows…
a truth we can’t deny…
how although some moments and days move ever-so-slowly
the years seem to fly by.
So these home-made cards from Violet…
will serve as a memory generator
and remind us of a moment paused in time
from their treasured place on our refrigerator.
Memories that we’ll call up…
Memories that will then linger…
of a time when her hands were small enough
to fit around our finger.
So no matter how much her hands grow
wherever she ends up across this beautiful land…
we will always have a keepsake
of the time she had tiny hands.
in response to contest prompt: In 25 words or fewer describe how difficult it is to write a response/poem in 25 words or fewer.
…it’s like stuffing a circus into a teacup
Five little frogs hopped
down to the lake,
To see what a splash their
webbed feet could make.
The biggest from jumped
With a terrible bound,
And scattered the lily pads
all way around.
While the rest swam away
without making a sound.
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