Every day hurts a little more,
Feels like I'm sleeping on a concrete floor.
Every day I feel worse,
Wear my body like a curse.
My energy drained by years of pain,
Every moment lost came with no gain.
So many passions set aside,
So many dreams I learned to hide.
And every day that I look back,
I see the widening of every crack.
A stolen childhood wrapped in shame,
My heart learned how to bear the blame.
A command to smile when I was ill,
But they never let me eat my fill.
Everyone else had needs to be met,
And they haven't even considered mine yet.
Every breath fills my lungs with a fire
That can never match my heart's desire.
Every beat of that treacherous heart
Taught me how to play their part.
Every step I will ever take,
They never thought I had the strength to make.
Yet every day that I awake,
I see again how much it can take.
So here I seek solace among the trees,
No judgement in the gentle breeze.
Here I'll sit and silently weep
For all I've lost and could not keep.
The river keeps no record of the vanished light,
only a widening path of amber where evening carries that light.
One leaf releases from its branch and enters the river’s current of light.
Even the reeds bow briefly, then straighten, guided by approaching light.
The blue heron lifts from the shoreline, winged with departing light,
while I follow the riverbank, gathering what remains of light.
But somewhere in the braid of the day’s dissolving light
I notice the powerful presence of light.
Between memory and gratitude, there is light.
My mother's voice survives in an old room of light.
A friend's laughter crosses decades inside a chamber of light.
A poem waits at the edge of silence, listening for light.
Suddenly, I understand: the world does not contain light.
The world is revealed by light.
The heart is remembered by light.
The soul is awakened by light.
And every good poem leaves us carrying a little more light.
a silver feather drifts across the mirror of winter dawn,
its quiet gleam widening wonder in the pale light,
as frost-soft air carries what you almost remember,
and the day opens gently around that drifting shine.
Swirls rise and fold through the field of color,
outlines drifting at the edges, searching for shape~
each one carrying the quiet pulse of an idea.
Figures brighten, blur, then pass into another idea,
their borders dissolving inside currents of color
that refuse to settle into any single shape.
Nothing here is finished; everything leans toward shape,
toward the next flicker that might become an idea,
toward the widening spiral of ungoverned color.
ENVOI
In the creator’s mind, color keeps opening, shape keeps shifting, idea keeps arriving.
a single breath gathers the scattered pieces I carry inside.
soft silence opens, widening the room where I let my worries rest.
in this stillness, I offer what I can and receive what I need.
Voices in the head, play dead.
River, rib, rill, red.
Thunderbolts within the tread.
Gold, be made to lead.
Tornado, blue widening gyre.
Belladonna, byre.
Lyrics of the liquid lyre.
Orange funeral pyre.
Mandrake, when you start to shriek.
Canine, thy bad bane.
Feline, tremulous top teak.
Wading through green rain.
Paranoid, schizophrenia.
Thought-spark, white shirt hurt?
Lachrymose the languor law.
Arrowed, O black quirt.
Severance? Gone, thine own way.
Hell and Heaven, hay.
Doubt, dread, doom, dung disarray.
Away from me stay.
Coral reef, the legal brief.
Cases, caught a cold?
Cannabis, thy pressured kif.
Brown the grizzly bold.
Nanotechnological?
That means very small.
Mother Entropy, your call.
Sword, halve. Vine, vinall.
Tyrannosaur, how you roar!
Kill floor crimson gore!
Lava volcanic null door!
Wind up war before!
This is a decima poem. A décima poem is a ten-line stanza with eight syllables per line, typically following the rhyme scheme ABBAACCDDC. This poetic form is popular in Latin America and often deals with various themes, including philosophical, political, and humorous subjects. (Source: Wikipedia.com)
I sense a presence drawing near
beyond the reach of mortal sight;
it moves through assemblies of light
that softens edges of my fear.
It brightens what I hold most dear—
a vastness widening my view,
a clarity that feels quite true,
a depth that widens what I see,
a grace that listens to my plea,
and keeps my spirit rising new.
Wish I was the cold, ethereal breeze, that could calm everyone....
An exquisite zephyr a child craves for, peeping from the classroom window...
Zealous enough to light a tiny girl’s heart,
Descending from the zenith to the deep, silent seas.
Rising from the ever-widening ocean,
Weaving through trembling trees.....
And slipping into every unreachable corner of the world... Carrying the soft whisper of forgotten lands,
Brushing away the heat of heavy minds... Matched with the bold thunder, I’d be a timid rain-sneeze...
Wish I was that cold, ethereal breeze ...
Written: August 17, 2026
***************
Spilling out in heavy gold,
To wake what lay still and fair.
Reluctantly, the dawn unrolled,
A sudden shiver stirred the air.
On every sun-scratched crest and hill,
where blazing sighs breathe and swell.
They spill ashore with quiet will—
A rhythm moving in its shell.
Flaring through the widening day,
Where hot gales blow a warmer breeze.
That single, hesitant ray,
Now spills its weight across the seas.
Surviving the weight of heavy years,
this light found where the shadows hid.
A love that conquers all our fears
in this raw light, we learn how to build.
So brief, this golden shadow dwells,
Across the curve of heavy waves—
A single gasp as the sky swells,
Before the dance of light behaves.
A stone dropped in a lake
Is never just a stone
It’s a message sent outward
A consequence unfolding
A story written in widening rings
We act
The world answers
We hesitate
The world answers
Even silence has a sound
When it echoes long enough
A kindness given today
Might bloom in someone else’s tomorrow
A careless word
Might bruise a heart we never see
A choice avoided
Might open or close doors we didn’t know existed
The water remembers everything
The weight of our decisions
The shape of our intentions
The tremble of our fears
Every ripple
Gentle or jagged
Moves outward into lives
Into futures
Into moments we’ll never witness
We stand at the shoreline
Holding our stones
Not knowing whatever we release
Travels farther than we can imagine
In this truth
Lies both the danger and beauty
Of being human
Pleiads move in quiet harmony, pearls of cosmic light.
Protostars blaze in clustered, blue-white heat.
Plasma streams sculpt halos of electric light.
Parallax reveals their distance across widening sky.
Photons scatter in dust creating mist-blue sheen.
Pleiads burn as massive, hot, B-type stars,
Presence of planetary birth lingers when the Seven arise.
dawn spills gold on waking sky
cloud-feathered paths drift soft and high~
each widening glean a cray
of light ascending day’s first wing
With every word spoken in flame,
We burnt our bridges, played the game.
Letters to ash,
Actions too rash,
The ravine is widening, we can't turn back
Our past is broken, now we fear attack.
Burn or mend.
Instead let's speak words with grace,
Bridging the gap, reclaiming our place.
Letters take form,
Actions preform,
No turning back, it's not just a bridge rebuilt,
But a mended past, from all of our guilt
Alone I sail my little boat except for Spirit guide;
no human form bends oar with me upon the swelling tide.
They all seem very far away, the hearts that I have known
and ever widening the wake the winds of fate have blown.
Alone, and yet, I sense their hearts beside me though the dark;
the waves they sail today will later lift my fragile bark.
One word from Christ and wild winds blow no more;
one little word and all small craft are instantly at shore.
Copyright, 1987
The fern unfurls its fronds into bright daylight,
Upwelling, unfolding, into its green birthright.
Each turn widening out, from what came before.
Uncoiling upon its splayed and flattened mentor.
A shell remembers the squeeze of an ebb tide,
to fill its cramped space from that wise guide.
Expanding its shell's spiral wider to enclose
and encircle, its whorl with more space as it grows.
A hawk ascends to an invisible higher place
upwelling on warm air lifts high into space.
Ever widening its circle and point of view,
As Earth unscrews; its thread now askew.
Circling round a spiral coiled staircase,
each step is quarter, or half, about face.
Entwined by the central core to twist away
from the straight step into light of day.
Wild vine tendrils learn from whirlpools,
which way to script their upward spools.
Responding to the wire's touch and feel
to coil in spirals, around cold hard steel.
High above the spiral galaxies unwind their arms
like silver brittle starfish on bracelet charms.
They're frozen in space and time to not display
the way they twist, coil and spin in foreplay.
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