There will be storms

Skies twist and turn these days, moving through in the blink of an eye, unsettling the mind that waits for rain yet receives only sunlight. They say there will be storms. Storms so fierce that it will test the mettle, the strong shall be wise and stand tall with an ounce of fear, as that is all life requires. A healthy dose of fear to put things in perspective.

The fear, the little nudge to the mind that reminds us of our smallness, our frailty. Life moves like that, we move through blind, Groundhog Day relived over and over yet soon we find, It was always the little things, the looks, the words, the feelings that mattered most.

A storm can rip apart the very things you’ve built, the things you’ve worked for, the things you desired….but in the end they are only that, things. The storm can’t replace a moment spent with a loved one, a kiss shared in passion, a smile given to a stranger just because they looked as if they had nothing….the free things in life, that’s what’s important.

There will be storms, internal, external, it’s all in the way you look at it. Yet if we set aside our preconceived thoughts and let understanding take the place, to leave a judgement behind of how things should be, to strip away the fear to find the light that shines below like the hottest sun, ah, then the storm will pass by, leaving little touched, perhaps just a hair out of place and a memory of how things used to be, and then we set fear aside of losing it all and begin to truly live.

Image taken on the gulf coast of Florida by Janet O. Realtor extraordinaire.

Empty page

Where did the words go on the day that they died? The book sat idly, pages blowing back and forth like sails on a ship in the breeze, back and forth, then resting still. Blank.

Where did the words go when they got caught between the tears, when the words spoken over rode the feeling, and when the night became dark and felt so empty, like the pages, on the day the words inside died.

Where did the words go, as the mind stood still watching helplessly and the tongue lay oversized and silent, swallowing the feeling as it moved up and then back down, replaced with the feeling of gut wrenching pain.

Where did the words go, when they couldn’t be written for fear of being found, for if you wrote them, then that made them real and they couldn’t be allowed to live in the light, instead forcing them down and swallowing them like a note passed in class, as the teacher holds out their hand for the little square that told secrets that weren’t allowed to be seen.

Where did the words go when no one was listening, when hearts were breaking, and pages remained empty for years….waiting patiently to live.

My last NaPoWriMo, not written to the prompt. Kept thinking about the death of words, or not speaking/writing what needs to be said, this is what surfaced. Hope you enjoy and Happy end of NaPoWriMo my friends. Peace and love and lots of writing ahead. K

Circular persuasion

In faded water colored thoughts

Circular influences bouncing around and about

This restless mind bent on creation

Yet weary and ready for rest.

Shell patterned symbols

A Nautilus from somewhere deep down below

Where currents move gently

Like familiar images of dreams.

I gaze into their recesses

Following in deeper and reaching the end

Turning a thought over and moving back out again,

Like silent tides unwitnessed,

Still do their thing regardless,

moving back and forth, rocking like a lullaby

And though the moon is a distant friend

It still waits for our busy lives

To slow down

And gaze upwards into round orbs that create destiny

Just in their being.

I sit in the peace of a moment stolen

Content for the souls that move round,

In and out like an ocean treasure

Leaving a smile

Or a quiet gentle reminder

That I hold in my heart

Forever after

Till they come round

Once more.

Image found at :

Inspiration from too many to name….you all know who you are…peace, love and bedtime, K

In My little town….

I remember standing beneath that warm summer sun, or perhaps it was spring, when the scent of over ripe strawberries filled the air and the drone of the cicadas were the music of the day. Everywhere it came from like speakers in the trees and ground. I remember hearing the never-ending buzz, just one into another as I sat beneath the plum-tree, their dark purple-almost black color as they clung to the branches like I think olives would, except to me they were magical plums, dripping a golden bead out of some.

I remember my boundaries, marked by the places in the yard, where I could go, where I was told not to go and then there were my thoughts, where my dreams allowed me to go.

I remember the hot haze of the day as I stood there alone, perhaps seven or so years old, doesn’t really matter because I remember it all as if it were now. I looked out towards the fields behind the tall pine trees, past the trees the marker of where I could not go. The place back where there was an old detached box car from a tractor-trailer, the place we found the dead cat trapped within, on a day not like today, in a place we weren’t supposed to go.

I remember the air and staring at the skies and feeling so loved by this nature world, by the clouds above me and I knew and felt good being here alone, like this was how many days would be and it was comforting the way the scent of the concord grapes in fall filled the air and left me craving a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, but that wasn’t today, that was so very long ago, in a time after the cherries had been picked away by the birds, the ones we could reach turned into sweet pies with golden crusts. Days when the windows were open to cool the house and school was out and I was free.

I remember the smell of honeysuckle and hay as it was cut for the farmers, for the cows down the street where we got out milk, heavy cream in tall bottles with cardboard caps that smelled like the dairy, like cows that ate the grass and lived free beyond the barn, not like now where the milk has no smell and the cardboard gets smushed up and put in the recycling bin, no trace of cows or their scent.

I remember the smell of that day as I stood there in the glory of nature, in my backyard alone in my little town, and the feel of it all, the sights, sounds and scents, and the utter joy of being in that moment.

I remember that moment, and when I die, I hope I return to that place in time, young and free and filled with the simple joy of being under a distant warm sun that spoke to me so long ago.

“In my little town

I grew up believing
God keeps His eye on us all
And He used to lean upon me
As I pledged allegiance to the wall
Lord I recall
My little town”

Simon and Garfunkel


Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem based on things you remember. Try to focus on specific details, and don’t worry about whether the memories are of important events, or are connected to each other. You could start by adopting Brainard’s uniform habit of starting every line with “I remember,” and then you could either cut out all the instances of “I remember,” or leave them all in, or leave just a few in. At any rate, hopefully you’ll wind up with a poem that is heavy on concrete detail, and which uses that detail as its connective tissue. Happy writing!

Opened doors

The door closed and there fell silence

she turned and walked away

in the heart of it all she knew it was over

Each word that he said pierced her very soul

she waited in anticipation for all she hoped

his eyes held tears as he watched her smile grow

she opened the door with the twist of a key

the soft knock echoed through the empty hallway

she glanced at the clock and found it odd he was late

as he stood down on the street taking deep breaths

she checked her hair and makeup, wanting perfection

today was the day she thought to herself.


This was my offering for NaPoWriMo and below was the prompt:

And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). Today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that tells a story. But here’s the twist – the story should be told backwards. The first line should say what happened last, and work its way through the past until you get to the beginning. Now, the story doesn’t have to be complicated (it’s probably better if it isn’t)!

Storm tossed

We set aside these,

These thoughts of raging storms,

Storms of thought that blow in-

In to the soul causing destruction of self.

Selflessly we move forward to moments,

Moments like lighthouses shining,

Shining beacons we seek shelter from,

From storms that crash into our soul.

Souls speak the words like parting clouds,

Clouds that moments before that were choking-

Chocking the lifeblood out of our dreams,

Dreams that sat on the verge of truth,

Truth is all that’s left to set us free.

Free in peace from sandstorm pain,

Pain that pricked like a thousand needles,

Needles on sensitive skin and we hid-

Hid beneath the stairs that wound into the sky,

Sky that would be our salvation-

Salvation in its simplest form,

Form of clarity and calm.

Trying something a bit new, each sentence ends with a word and the next sentence begins with the same word….sometimes you just have to climb out of the box into the storm to see a new day. Hope it makes sense and enjoy. Peace, love and lighthouses. K

Rain on cedar

The scent of rain on cedar

removes the self and moves the memory backwards.

Days of dark houses and cages of big eyed beasts

that carry the innocent look until teeth sunk in to tender skin

and the damp wet smell of tree bark pieces

perpetual job of scraping cages and cleaning glass.

I remember how we caught a praying mantis

and on a lark decided upon a battle of the big eyed beast

and the stick-like green alien.

Headless the stick moved after battle

just like the babies that were devoured

because the beast deemed necessity

to rid itself of itself.

Rain on cedar now sparks light

pleasant thought of peace

leaving the darkness of glass walls behind

and the foul stench of soaked chips for pets

that upon realizing escape could be had,

ran loose through the night

before a tired demise

at the hands of an unlikely sump pump

becoming the watery grave.

I drift in adult days and blurry haze of yesterday’s

and leave it behind beneath mulch on the path

walking forward from there,

from childish thoughts and nightmares

I reach dreams on the fly

staring at the falling drops

from the grey clouded sky.

Thoughts today for some reason kept revolving around rain on cedar and like my mind has a mind to travel on its silly paths, kept heading back to hamster cages of my youth, of darker days I like to leave behind, but perhaps to let it into the light here, I can move along on my merry way to better images and topics. Thanks for letting me vent out some not so nice things here my friends….but I most felt bad for the poor praying mantis…I didn’t know they were endangered, even in the 70’s…Peace and kinder thoughts, K

Universal pieces

On purple paper

shapes of souls emerge through words

human kindness spreading smiles.

We are the puzzle pieces of the universe,

so many shapes and sizes,

so many colors and thoughts

alike and different brought together

just because

the time became now

when hands reach across the water to find

another that fits the heart.

Friends of the world unite

spreading their own selves on waves of joy,

of everyday people just like you and I.

I feel blessed and so grateful for these days,

when the little things add up to be so very big

and when the feelings rise to the skies

higher than the brightest sun

and eclipse with their own brilliance,

the quiet peace of a friend,

the sweetest gift

I can comprehend.

To find what matters in this big old world

that in the end is really quite small,

is just something so simple yet often overlooked

a hello,

“I’m thinking of you”

and a talk soon.

Upon receiving a beautiful purple envelope in the mail today from my “Niece” down the block…always makes me smile with so much joy and happiness. The nature of humanity always brings me up, even when I’m not feeling down…flying with a smile. Thanks Tre!

Peace, love and purple letters,


Blooming in time

Words come haltingly like thoughts that fall

into the sphere of nothingness,

small and waiting

lessons learning

taking in the water to grow.

Dreams of flowers in golden fields

and I wake to blooms waiting for admiration

more to go,

more to grow

like souls and selves that rise higher

reaching for the light that often eludes

then one day stopping to absorb

the nutrient of words shared

to suck in the life of each lessons told

and we grow stronger

stems strengthen against the winds that blow

and we finally look around to see

with a heart filled with joy

with simple serenity

that we are born into what we were meant to become,

that we our us

the beautiful ones

and filled to overflowing

with courage and resolution

to stand proud

to be.

I chose not to follow today’s prompt, inclined instead after a day yesterday of soul searching reading and a lovely bloom in my vase, to write this instead. Hope it inspires strength in those that need it and reaffirmation that we are all beautiful. Peace and love and amazingness, K

A well of desperation….

“As if you could kill time without injuring eternity. 

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation”

And I stand above,

Yet still a part of the whole of this piece,

This fragment of a universal space

Does it flow up or down

These thoughts that forever run,

As if trying to catch a Monarch on a lilac

As it flits from here to there

And knowing the score,

The fragility of the conquest we hold back from doing

That which could, would cause harm

And in becoming for a moment that entity,

We soar free to places,

Landing lightly in a second upon that which we seek.

A peaceful place,

Or crushing sound as water smashes and smooths

The mighty rocks far below

We stand above it so small

So weak in comparison

To natures strength,

Our only power is in destroying

Yet it is that strength that is needed to refrain.

We hold in our hands all of the answers we seek

Yet like sand we let them fall in the wind

Scattered because we fear to hold tight,

To change,

To become so much more

Than mere words could ever say.

Image was taken at Watkins Glen NY on a trip a few years back, the first two lines above are from Walden by Henry D. Thoreau….one of my favorite books of all time. 

And now for our (optional) prompt! Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that begins with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then goes elsewhere with it. This will work best if you just start with a line of poetry you remember, but without looking up the whole original poem. (Or, find a poem that you haven’t read before and then use a line that interests you). The idea is for the original to furnish a sort of backdrop for your work, but without influencing you so much that you feel stuck just rewriting the original!. For example, you could begin, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,” or “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” or “I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster,” or “they persevere in swimming where they like.” Really, any poem will do to provide your starter line – just so long as it gives you the scope to explore. Happy writing!