“The year’s at the spring and day’s at the morn.
Morning’s at seven; the hill-side’s dew-pearled.
The lark’s on the wing. The snail’s on the thorn.
God’s in His heaven - All’s right with the world”
Pippa’s Song by Robert Browning
Behind my house, with slender limbs bent low,
there is an ornamental willow tree -
a weeping cherry planted years ago.
It’s been two decades since then - maybe three
when she first bloomed for us sweet pink in spring.
I hope she never stops delighting me.
Two other trees such pretty blossoms bring.
In my front yard, they’re ornamental too,
and in their boughs I hear the robins sing.
When April comes and life begins anew,
they show their hues – one amethyst, one white.
Their grand display comes always right on cue!
Their flowering is such a lovely sight.
It’s nature’s way of saying “All is right.”
When I make love to you sweetly,
it is more than a physical act,
in fact,
it is a celebration of all you
mean to me.
You give my life substance.
You make my heart beat
to the rhythm of true love,
and that's why
I love you so much.
When I make love to you tenderly,
it is my way of saying 'thank you'
for being my Rock,
my foundation,
and my strength.
You are the foundation
that keeps me strong
during the trials and tribulations
of everyday life,
and that's why
I love you so much.
When I make love to you passionately,
it is in recognition of our bond
and commitment to one another.
No one and nothing
can come between us
because we are so committed.
Me
You
Love
Forevermore.
When I make love to you sweetly,
a romantic melody plays over
and over in the center of my heart.
You are my harmony
You bring out the best in me,
especially when we're making love,
because
it is more than a physical act,
in fact,
It is the intertwining
of mind to mind,
heart to heart,
soul to soul.
A bird dropped one on me today....
perhaps his way of saying
"thanks" for the bird feeder
Light arrives late now,
a gift unwrapped slowly,
each dawn spilling gold across frost-etched windows,
like honey through crystalline latticework.
On the seventh,
the world leans closer,
whispers birthday into winter's ear,
and I imagine candles blazing against the shortest days,
small rebellions of flame that refuse the dark.
What I want most is this:
mornings thick with cinnamon steam,
streets glittering like someone shattered all the stars,
and swept them into careful piles along the curbs.
I want laughter that fogs the air between us,
conversations that spiral upward like smoke from chestnuts,
the kind of warmth you can almost hold.
Give me December as a doorway,
not an ending,
snow falling soft as possibility,
covering everything we thought we knew about cold.
Let the year turn on this hinge of hope:
that darkness is just another way of saying
we still have light to kindle,
that December keeps teaching us to gather close and glow.
My grandmother's hands
knew things mine have forgotten,
how to make bread rise,
how to hem a dress
so it would last.
She saved everything:
buttons in mason jars,
stories in the space
between stirring and serving,
love in the way she said
my name.
This is what we lose
when we move too fast,
the slow art of remembering,
the patient work
of passing things down.
Her kitchen was a kind of church
where recipes were prayers,
and every meal
a small act of keeping
the world together.
Now, I try to learn
what she never had to teach:
how to make something
with my hands,
how to turn memory
into bread,
into words,
into something
that will feed
the ones who come after.
Each story I tell my daughter
is a vote against forgetting,
a way of saying:
this mattered,
we mattered,
you matter too.
“Spring is nature’s way of saying, ‘Let’s party.' ” —Robin Williams
The early sunrise peaks in bright red crimson rays
Nature is delivering Spring gifts in many ways
Fresh Lilac blooms are opened and perfuming the air
As butterflies and bees are keeping busy pollinating there
A gentle breeze sways the one new pink peony bloom
As new buds appear ready to make their floral boom
A hummingbird appears and hovers as he feeds
On fresh flower nectar that helps his energy needs
Chipmunks scatter and chatter about as they play
And try to sneak some bird seeds and flowers away
Blue jays appear and perch to steal fresh squirrel food
And squawk as they appear to bully with their brood
This beautiful spring day is a gift that enlightens the mood
If this tumbling stream be nameless,
I might as well hazard a descriptive guess.
Ripple River might do,
there are none here
to deny my footloose thoughts.
Submerged river rocks guide
a sun guzzling water
through a wooded way.
I'm not good at identifying tree's,
how they shape themselves
means more to me.
How old can a little creek be?
How to measure the ever changing?
If I return to this place by dawn or evening light
the name of this stream might alter yet again,
the way the light swims
renames our memories of it.
I prefer pictorial names
for all those innate features of a place,
the pleasure of naming prospects and vistas
gets to be a sacramental act,
a way of saying:
"Hey, I see you."
The little linger, the wee wee wait-a-while,
says it all wordlessly, unwieldy:
"The momentary pause is pregnant!"
with distinct possibilities of a bow-out clause.
I can see and smell the stench of doubt
as you look away,
breaking our eye-to-eye contact.
That tiny delay is your way of saying it,
without saying it in words.
You, the soothsayer-in-silence bleats:
"The momentary pause is pregnant!"
Listen!
"One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. The word is love."
Sophocles, Greek Poet
A simple way of saying I love you,
It does not require any words at all.
It is all in the thoughtful things you do.
Those special dates that you always recall.
It is the little things that mean the most.
It is the kind words that lift spirits high.
When you listen, make sure to be engrossed.
Be someone on whom I always rely.
I don’t need thoughtful gifts to warm my heart.
Look into my eyes when you talk to me.
Support me with the things that I impart.
Be proud when I succeed, for all to see.
When I'm hurt, the love within you will pray,
That our dear Lord would take my pain away.
The pale white skies, with a tint of setting sunlight,
Spread across the horizon beyond the hill
Gray bark, tall pines and the oak stood proud
Holding their proof of spectacular seasons passed
Wind blown snow hug the tree trunks like marshmallows
Decorative slopes, frozen in collective time
Winter has a way of saying, everything will be alright
As it leaves behind these calm scenes that resonate
Always showing quiet peace, in drifts after the storms
Heidi Sands
1/18/24
(C)opyright
It's a new year,
Yet the sun still rises east,
It's only the first of January
I’m but a day older from the last year,
Nothings’ changed in the way I’m seen,
Tears still decide to fall by themselves,
I’m still watching from a distance,
The willpower must only get stronger, for the temptation still stays
The plastic smiles are starting to fail me
But hey at least it's a new year
I wish I knew how to play piano,
Just so I can finally let you know
How much I'll always love you so,
But life always has its way of saying no.
I wish I knew how to once again be yours,
But I first have to settle so many scores
With the one who claims I'm the one he most adores,
Even though I secretly love you behind your doors.
I wish I knew how to make you feel
That our love has always been something real,
That our love was something that helped me heal,
That you're the one in my mind's every spiel.
I wish I knew how to show what you mean to me;
In ways that show you how beautiful love can be.
I wish you and I could be in love freely,
But sometimes it feels like we're not meant to be.
Progress is the enemy
it's never what it seems
It hides behind the mask of deceit
Progress always means change
change means money
but it’s always money for someone
who has never had to live with the
changes that progress has left them
Anytime you hear that they’re going
to do a thing in the name of progress
you can bet that it’s just another way of saying
let’s take what’s beautiful, or intricately crafted
and turn it into something sleek
streamlined, cold…and ugly
Without warning progress
will rip the heart from a place
steal its innocence
It will pull the beauty from everything
it touches and leaves in its wake
a crippled, used-up
shell of what it once was
There you were right up there
Front and center stage
I looked at you from where I sat
All senses did engage
My eyes fixed on your movements
My ears locked on your song
Vanilla rosebuds in the air
Embraced and held me long
I tasted of your sweetness
Your voice a voice that calls
It grips my inner being
And echoes through its halls
The jeans you wore were faded
You always wear them well
Thoughts of you persuaded
But to you I won't tell
Lately I've been writing
Lots of different things
Most of them are love songs
Through words is how I sing
They're just my way of saying
The things I want to say
Uno, you know, very much
And it's the only way
Where I can get to give you
Some little petit fours
Tiny bite sized pieces
Of sweets from my heart's stores
And though I sense I'm slowing down
Don't take that to mean
I still won't write them now and then
Because of you I still do dream
Texas Idioms
Miracle Man
8/9/2023
I once had a friend who saw opportunities dwindling,
he was always, “burning his green wood for kindling.”
My polite way of saying that he wasted his time,
he couldn’t “buy a flea a coat if it just cost a dime.”
He was “dumber than dirt with a head like a log,”
When sober he was “handier than hip pockets on a hog.”
He “thought the sun came up just to hear him crow,”
and I thought this man had “a great face for radio.”
He was “as yellow as mustard but without the bite,”
and “if melted down couldn’t be poured into a fight.”
So he wouldn’t be someone I’d ever take to a battle,
In short, this old friend “was all hat and no cattle.”
“he was so narrow minded
he could look through a keyhole with both eyes.”
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