Category: poetry

The Willow Trees

Image from Pinterest

https://onewomansquest.org/2021/05g/24/vjs-weekly-challene-trees/

 

In the stillness of days between,

The willows long to reach across the stream,

Breaching distance impossible.

Without the breeze,

Their branches hang in solitude,

Their leaves nearly tears,

Longing drips with want heavy in the air

Until finally—thunder—

Lightning— A breeze teases,

Limbs reaching,

Almost, nearly touching—

And then the wind begins,

Whipping one direction,

Then another, almost swirling,

Limbs, leaves touch

Across the stream

Solitude breached.

Lingering

 

 

The silk of waking

To dreams yet dreamed

Linger in the sky

Adrift in gray clouds

Carrying visions of possibilities

That yet may be

The Great Heron

Image is my own

I greeted the Great Heron

With a hello.

Then asked for some wisdom

Or some secrets of the earth.

 

But the Great Heron

Didn’t bother with a no.

Just a fluff of feathers

Before turning away

Without being troubled

To even look at me.

The red wing black birds

Chittered away in laughter

As the gentle doves

Cooed soothingly.

 

The crows cawed,

Rather obnoxiously,

About time running down.

I said I knew

And was aware of the beauty

In lessons along the way.

Even in the lessons so painful

You thought they might

Break your soul in two

Held a beauty in the end.

 

The crows disliked what I said,

And they couldn’t disagree,

So, screaming out a caw,

Flew away.

 

Turning his eyes to me,

The Great Heron shifted on his log,

Before opening his wings

And flying away,

Letting me know

He had nothing to say.

 

 

	


	
	






	
	

		
All Things New
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Dreamtime










Storm clouds rode in





Upon a sky soaked in sunset red.





Wildflowers bowed their heads





Down on either side





As I drove by





Smiling, thinking of all things new.





Once home, I stood in the yard,





Arms akimbo, welcoming the new—





What the storm, the wind, the rains





Would bring—





As gently as their nature could—





All things new, clean, green





With spring.






	


	
	






	
	

		
Scars of Hope
	


	

		

Image is my own










I gather hardened scars of loss and damage
Braided into keloid beauty
That are not blossoms of bitterness,
But fragrant beauties
That make me who I am.
Even the bars of your barren garden
Called love could not steal away
The essence of my hope.
Instead, the black, barrenness
within sugar syrup words
Of one never able to love
Contain no acid
To eat away
My skin of hope.

	


	
	






	
	

		
First Day of May
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Givingcompass.org











 




Winds and rains came today.





I tried to follow the trail





They made.





But on this first day of May,





I was not strong enough–





To let the wind take me,





To allow pelting rain to abrade away





All my accumulated grime.





No freedom could I find





Within this day of winds and rains.

	


	
	






	
	

		
The Struggle
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Flickr















Weekend Writing Prompt #206 – Restless | Sammi Cox (wordpress.com)















Restless roses





climb skyward





toward the eternal





their grace defeated





as winds thrust





them downward





toward dirt





they escape.

	


	
	






	
	

		
The Chase of Words
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Windows Report





VJ’s Weekly Challenge: The Chase – One Woman’s Quest II











 




The words—





It is the always—the words—





I have always been





Searching the sidewalks, paths, trails, highways, the sky outside





     For the words—





Combing gently through those I love





     For the words—





Hunting the faces of strangers, my own face, my dogs, my friends





     For the words—





Scouring the hearts, the souls of those I observe





     For the words—





Ransacking restful, peace giving nature





     For the words—





Scourging even, in the chase, my faith





     For the words—





And they are never perfect.

	


	
	






	
	

		
Whispered Tales
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Pinterest.com












A phoenix rises in flames


From out the left side of my chest


With feathers of flame yet,


Set free to fly where it wills.


 


One day, it will return,


Nuzzling deep inside my chest again,


All the ashes gone,


All flame having died away,


Its fiery colored feathers


Whispering, singing to my blood


Of beauty seen,


Of tantalizing things touched,


Of all the air breathed, smelled, felt,


Of the sounds soft and harsh heard


All along the way around the earth.


 


Through the whispered tales


Of those fiery feathers


My blood will tell me


Where I am to go.


 





	


	
	






	
	

		
The Work of Spring
	


	

		

image courtesy of anoregoncottage.com

















I clipped away dead branches





From the living shrubs today.





Not an easy thing,





But a thing that must be done.





Strange it is how dead things





Will cling so tightly to the living





As if to squeeze





The last remaining bits of life away





And thus, have company in death and dying.  





 





There is yet more to do





So only the living things are left





To flourish in the spring sun.