Category: celebrations

I Whispered Your Name…


#napowrimo

Surprisingly, you left 
Here on gossamer 
Wings. 
For seven years 
I loved you.
For seven years 
You loved me. 
I soul cried your 
Name into the sky. 

Your spirit answered
And took a tiny
Piece of my heart. 
I did not know 
That little piece 
Still belonged 
To you. 
I spoke your name
Into the void. 
You heard me. 
Forgotten,
You will never
Be. 

I whispered 
Your name 
Into the wind.
You caught 
My tearful words
And released them 
Into the sky! 

I whispered 
Your name 
Into the void.
Memories rushed in.
Forgotten 
You will
Never be. 

Joy 

Joy is in the breeze.
Gentle, wispy fingers touched by brine caress my cheeks as they pass by on their way to others who have journeyed through asphalt and sand to sit at the edge of the sea. 

Joy is in the wave.
Waves lap at my toes. Watery tendrils lap at the sand pulling and pushing golden kernels of soon to be sea glass with the regularity of the moon. Gentle tingling can turn into the crashing of white noise as the sea transforms from calm to wild. 

Joy is in the sun. 
When the earth winters and the sun is far, a few hot beams of light are sun-sent, like beckons in the icy dark. These rays of illumination light up a face chilled by frigid air. 

Joy is in the berry. 
Red, Shiraz, Merlot or Rose.
Cava, Brut or the finest champagnes! The intoxicating blend of sweet, dark berries and bubbles fill my glass with an instant celebration. 

Joy is in the sweetness.
Cocoa beans and hazelnuts are the guilty sin of the soul. Rich, brown chocolate warms the tongue as it melts to a liquid finish. Bumps of hazelnuts burst in nutty goodness against sharp and happy molars. 

Joy is in the music.
The cacophonous din of data swamp the mind with daily cobwebs. The blue notes of jazz and white chords of Bach cleanse the soul. Music soothes the bewildered me.

Joy is in the touch.
Firm fingers trace circles on flesh tight with tension. Oiled hands knead bread on shoulders knotted with hot cross buns. Knuckles meander down spines tightly coiled with springs. Relax. Release. Breathe. Skin and muscle yield to gentle hands. 

Napowrimo Day 7 : joy poem. Finally time to post it! 

Cinnamon Tree Villanelle #napowrimo 5

Cinnamon tree, graceful and free We meet just once in a while. 
Where shall we meet again, in thunder, lightning or rain? 
The spice in your smile is magic to me.

Who wooed in haste, and means to wed at leisure?
I wear my heart upon my sleeve for daws to peck at. 
Cinnamon tree, graceful and free 
We meet just once in a while. 

The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.
This is the short and the long of it. 
The spice in your smile is magic to me.

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? 
How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes.
Cinnamon tree, graceful and free 
We meet just once in a while. 

Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Who could refrain, 
That had a heart to love, and in that heart 
Courage to make love known?
Cinnamon tree, graceful and free 
We meet just once in a while. 
The spice in your smile is magic to me.

I Found an Acorn in my Teacup

acorn
Day 7 Prompt: a poem about luck and fortuitousness

I found an acorn in my teacup and wondered how it faired. Was in put there by a small boy hiding outdoors from his brother? Was it put there by a young girl infatuated with her lover? What secret does the acorn hold in its placement in my cup? Would I have to consult the ocean to bring me clarity? And why such a thing be suddenly linked to tea?

I found an acorn in my teacup and wondered how I could be so lucky. Was it the luck of finding money folded in a purse not used in many months? Was it the luck of finding a winning fortune in my Chinese fortune cookie? Was it the luck of seeing money falling out of the pocket of a girl in tight pants? Were her cheeks offering me money, knowing I needed tea?

I found an acorn in my teacup and wondered about love. Would it always be a one-sided mystery fraught with tears and disappointment? Did love begin like the small seed acorn and then grow strong into a tree? Would I ever find my soulmate? You know, the one just for me? Would I spend my life mourning lovers and forever crying in my tea?

I found an acorn in my teacup and I thought, “lucky me!” Love, light and fleeting, like a small bird in flight will find me. Love, true and binding, lasting through time and space will be mine. Love will tangle our hearts and lives together like the glistening spider web. We will spoon and cuddle, ever close, in the small, warm kitty bed.

I found an acorn in my teacup and I thought, “lucky me!” Someday my luck will change. My happy tears will fall like diamonds in the glimmering sea. Joy and laughter will fill the air, forever following me. I’ll be loved and warmly cherished. I’ll be invited in for tea.

When The Gray Birds Fly

pg-10-winter-pa_80102bNaNoWriMo #6

The day was gray and filled with clouds.

Birds flew against the white sky like silver flecks in a snow globe.

They say flocking birds fly taking souls to heaven.

The birds told me I was not in time.

I glanced at the flocking birds as numbness encapsulated my soul.

Disbelief crept into my thoughts as time was not on my side.

The birds flew higher with your soul as the silent ambulance flashed by.

Just days before our eyes met for the final time.

I knew it would not be long as gray had infiltrated you from the inside.

Gray clutched my heart and squeezed.

I knew you only had a little time.

You lay there warm and I stoked your hair, your face, your  hand.

I felt good as your suffering was gone.

I felt good as you were at peace in so many ways.

Gray silence was left in your wake.

Silence and the need for me to be strong.

The gray birds spirited away but you came back in a gossamer veil.

Like Lazarus you were transformed.  A new body, a new smile, eternal life.

You, the You, you could not be in life.

The better you, the happy you, that you could only be in death.

I was so happy to see you and know that things are better on the other side.

Cha-click-bang. Cha-click-bang.  Such an odd sound to awaken to,

It was you with one last message for me

Cha-click-bang. Cha-click-bang.  You demanded I get up out of a deep sleep.

Cha-click-bang. Cha-click-bang! I obeyed and went straight to your room.

As I walked that demanding whisper faded as alertness moved in.

Words you never told me, I heard for the first time whispered softly beneath the words of a song.

“I will always love you.”

I knew it was you talking to me for the last time.

It’s been six years since the gray birds flew.

Six years since that last whisper from you.

It will be a long time till we meet again.

That day will be gray and filled with clouds.

It will be a day when the flocking birds fly; fly my soul right up to heaven.

Until that day Dad…goodbye.

Enigma

Enigma of mine, riddle in time,
I want you.

Born of concertos loud in pleasure,
drowned in drums.

Sweet dreamed and longed for.
Always talked of.
Not afar.

Real by the blue dot.
Real by my doc.
Real by me.

Horrid suddenly. Simmered in sin.
Loathed by he.
He called your father.
He hailed the reaper.
Cowards’ spawn.

Stayed by my boot tips.
Gone forever, he who reaps.

Mystery of life,
love-bathed by one.
Mother love.

Enigma of mine, riddle in time,
I love you.

I will die at home, as I sleep, on a Friday.

NAPOWRIMO # 2 write a poem predicting your own death.

Peaceful  I will go.
I will die at home, as I sleep, on a Friday.
That is how I want to go.
Let me slip uneventful into the underworld.
Sprites and angels and heavenly bodies welcome me
with open arms and mellifluous voices.
Let me cross the dark abyss on a sailing ferry
complete with all my favorite niceties.
From escargot to wine and books….
From Paganini to shoes and lamb.
The risen lamb. The only lamb.
Salvation lamb.
Let me sail away with these things gambolling behind my eyes.
Let the smell of the sea be the last I draw in.
Let the waves gently rock me back and forth.
No fanfare needed.
No CSI. No NCIS. No “CLEAR.”
Just silence and a gentle release of my hand.
Peaceful is how I want to go.
I want to die at home, as I sleep, on a Friday.