I will dream in fields…

I will dream in fields-

they lay before me behind closed eyes,

dappled with daisies and buttercups

in a corner of my mind where peace resides.

I will touch the delicate petals

softly as they whisper to me their tales

of spring and birth to fall and death

as they seem to smile in perfection

I will become a swaying stem.

I will be in fields of memory

with each piece I encounter of sadness

and the anger stirred in restless souls,

I will retreat to this place of quiet

where I may hear my heart beat gently

in tune with the universe around.

Here there will be acceptance

and love of the simple and forgiving

as I stand on the rich fertile soul below my feet

I will again be thankful

that I am alive

dreaming in daisies and yellow bits of beauty.

The trouble with yesterday

We watched the screen while we lived the tale

Cinderella stories of broken hearts unlike the tried and true

as we crept on eggshells through the days that made

the growing bones and curves blossoming

how we still felt incomplete.

We thought we had the answers

learned from source of glamorous mags

and photos of how it should be

that in the end conflicted with how it was.

We skipped in darkened corners,

hidden kisses that thrilled the soul

from tepid boys who practiced first

on arms and pillows

and blushing we looked away perhaps in fear

of the feelings rising

and the need to be a part of this whole.

Memories of makeup on shelves

as we peruse the lipstick and pink powder colors

trying to be better than we felt on the inside

and we lifted the cologne and inhaled the scent

of the beautiful boy who bumped us in fast paced hallways

yet lingered just a second too long

and the Polo heady in our heads as we sat dreaming

through social studies of prince charming

and being asked to the ball,

as the shrill bell rings reminding us to move along

we exit heavy doors and walk into the maelstrom

as against the grey cold lockers, he’s kissing her

like a known lover

and we feel the mascara that we shouldn’t have on

fall in black raindrops

as the wallflower wilts

under the memories of yesterday once more.

There were no party dresses for the shy

no words of true love for the needy soul,

just the hopeless feeling that life would always be

this dark and lonely place

and I wonder now where that girl has gone

as she stands makeup free yet beautiful within,

where has she gone, that shy tired girl

who dreamed for the movie as a child

and now lives the world of the belle of her ball today.

Do our minds twist and distort the reality,

do we grow stronger through the acts of the life play

and though the Polo brings a smile

it is in sweetness and a hint of laughter….

where are you now Oh Quarterback God?

Do you think of those days in fondness or despair…

but then again

that part of me no longer cares

for I am whole

wise

and more than enough

living this life of my making.

Darkness unearthed/forgotten?

We waited for the killing winds
tucked beneath our shrouds of ignorance
we listened to the heads speak endlessly
waiting on the second coming
in too many years
and still we wait.
The night of force belies the truth
prepared yet once more wondering
is it for naught
when the boy who cries wolf
one too many times
do the sheep move aimlessly after awhile
searching out the tender clover
blissfully unaware
of the darkness to come.
When fables repeat
and the record rewound once more
and then again,
again we wonder as the skies grow dark
and we wait for the windows to rattle
and receive a whispered breath,
we say our prayers to others
not so lucky
for they will be the ones
who hearken the coming of the next storm
for living through
not unscathed
they know what the simple reminder is,
in life the gratitude knows no difference
and darkness unearthed
will pick aimlessly
where the wind blows.

A photo I took the day after Hermine blew through…pigeons and seagulls united on the shore, watching the waves smash in and out, turtles nests torn asunder and children meandering in the edges of the waves while the was ocean closed for business, warnings unheeding as the red flag gave warning, I gathered memories of my first hurricaine and walked away.

Lyrics to my life #5

“Well, I really don’t mind the rain
And a smile can hide all the pain
But you’re down when you’re ridin’ the train that’s takin’ the long way
And I dream of the things I’ll do”

Rhinestone Cowboy-Glen Campbell

My grandmother owned a diner. Lately I’ve been having glimpses of the moments from when I was younger and the time I spent there. The smell of grease permeating the air and so thick you could cut it with a knife, and the coloring books she kept behind the counter for me were always a bit wrinkled and the crayons even held a sheen of grease. The jukebox in the corner of course always beckoned, and though I wasn’t familiar with a lot of what was one there, she showed me the special place in the back where I could grab a quarter out and play whatever I wanted. I remember playing this song, Mr. Bojangles and of course Happy Birthday over and over again ad nauseam. I think it was a ploy for attention because when I got on those whims to make her angry, she’d give me another bottle of Squirt (sure, give the kid even more sugar and make her sit still), tell me to stop and sit down and get busy coloring. She’s been dead for so many years now, years spent there working her fingers to the bone and “testing” every pot of soup, every casserole and pretty much everything that she created as she wouldn’t serve something that didn’t meet her approval, years of all of it clogging her arteries and slowing her down. I still like hitting a greasy spoon for a cheap breakfast, but somehow, without the jukebox or the bottle of Squirt and coloring books, it just ain’t the same anymore. I couldn’t find an actual photo of her diner, it is a restaurant still after having gone from the Raceway Diner to Donut Land now to the current Pegasus which is more upscale (but still a slight smell of grease in the air though) so this one of Mom’s Diner will have to give you a rough image to set the mood. I think I prefer where the lights and fresh air are shining on me now…..

In

Beside the sky that sits like a painting, rippled in faded colors of a sun that slipped away, water moves silently, glistening like a million diamonds scattered on smooth cloth, I breathe in the familiarity that is still foreign in its own unique way. I have returned to this world and in reach of the endless water, yet it is different now, it is a world I am at heart a part of yet still feel somewhat detached and it was home and now it is a place to visit, my paradise waits a thousand miles and days away yet I am calm, I feel the empty void that moves like a few drops of water in a glass too large, space where there should be a fullness, but there is harmony within for it must be, it has to be. 

I close my eyes and breathe in the cool air surrounding me, the scent not comforting like my space that lies behind, no essence is here of me and I move across this place like a bottle on the waves, meandering with the wind, searching for the place to land. I am here again and the mission is moving forward and familiar faces greet me, some leave me sad for missing the essence of a loving soul, for being so far now but I move forward and embrace each day and appreciate the places that can feed this mind, the water with the thousand diamonds and the sun that slips away as I reach out as if to entice it to remain for just a bit longer…but with each passing, another day comes with new moments to live, and one step closer to the journey home.

Enjoying my vacation yet missing my space where I am complete. I suppose I can add up all of the beautiful moments to tide me through, enjoy each laugh, hug and face but I realize I no longer see this place as home anymore, missing the tropical scents and my peaceful blue room retreat for “getting my Zen on” and missing you my friends. Be back next week and looking forward to the insights I gain in hindsight. Peace and love, K

Waiting

I wait on the edge of a dream moving through
boxes and boxes of vinyl old
beneath my fingers
flip flip I watch the faces around me smiling
yet angry as they clean and shine and keep moving
like busy ants without a purpose
and I flip flip through each colored cardboard
thick with unplayed songs
as I havent the device
to make them sing
and I want a few to take along with me
but don’t know who to ask
for I don’t belong here
anymore in this place with these faces
that don’t mean much
just the droning of movement that keeps me
from my selections as I flip flip through
a hundred boxes of vinyl set aside
because no one wants nor remembers
their existence except for me
because it is a piece of my formative years
with bright orange stickers
won like the lottery in a radio show
where the caller become the right caller
and I hold it in my hands
smelling the aroma of mildew and wonder
as I awaken
just how did I get there
and what does it mean now
that I’m awake
but I dreamt in black and white
and the man was there giving orders
and I sat alone
but he has become me and I him
and so I wait for a sign
a word as I try to catch his eye
on whether or not
I can take a record home.

Stream of consciousness thought upon waking from a dream I had.

In between shades

Watching movement in time and space

in between waves of movements of place

rippled streams of consciousness

nothing more, nothing less.

Beauty found on barren walls

ghostly forms in empty halls

call to those who seek the sight

as day edges off into the night.

I journey in the mind with ease

with dreams on edge they taunt and tease

and whisper words of a night birds song

deeper into the shadows long.

I call to thought, remember me

and waking lose that final plea

as the specter image begins to fade

left on dampened sheets where the scene was made.

I lose these thoughts on a silent morn

and wonder from where they had been born

will they return in brighter hue

as I slip below and dream of you.

I drift back into yesterday

to catch back up to, relive the play

of moments spent in bliss and joy

another dream of a memoried boy.

Color of peace

Words move through a mind
Gazing at gentle colors
as peace flows through the veins
like lifeblood.
Gentle blooms gather
swimming in a blue hued world
sitting patiently waiting
for a gaze to find them,
shy beauties stand proud
adorning the world with a calm
as each day passes
smiles become plentiful.
A petal to save
no love me nots
just a bouquet of love you
filling my heart and soul
with happy.
Discount blooms
priceless to the receiver
filling the world around me
where they never grow wild,
just captive in a tub
till chosen
rescued from withering
by a loving hand.

He likes to buy me flowers, and they give such a beautiful colorful lift to our home, cherished and loved. pS….the lavender lasted about a week and a half…i seem to do better with fresh cut flowers😊

Blue room poet

I am the blue room poet,

Sea spray hue fills the senses as I look past the window

Watching life move,

Watercolor dreams falling through my thoughts

As a quiet peace fills my soul with calm.

Pieces put together,

Ocean view colored walls

A place to sit and ponder,

A room to fill with beauty.

Each day will pass by slowly as the ocean waves move endlessly

With or without

We remain here filling spaces

New places from the old

Turning home into the need

Just a space to think,

To breathe

As silence fills the night as the sun goes falling down

The gentle moon will rise

And cast its silken glow

On the special place

Where a poet dwells

Creating words spun from a blue room.

Just finished painting the room which is where my desk will again reside, sea spray blue is the chosen color with white trim and oak floor. Once put back together, I will capture a pic of where I create, but for now, I’m too pooped to move everything back in, so just a reflective poem instead…..as Lionel sings to me from the kitchen…..Truly…..

Peace and blessings, K

And I awoke

I fell asleep last night, and like most nights did it in the same way, with words running amok through my head like a rollercoaster on the downward first plunge. Eighty miles an hour the thoughts took each twist and turn, moving words in sequences and plucking many out like fleas off of an infested dog. Nope, no good, pull that one and replace. Yes, that one works good there. I did this for a few moments, rehearsing the lines over and over again so that I would remember them, so that they would be given actual life on a piece of internet page for the world to see and judge. I fell asleep with words of beauty on my tongue, nodding in harmony to the rhythmic flow of creation.

I had many dreams last night. I know this as I woke with each passing one with a smile because of the fact that I remembered them, so many varieties of thought dreams. This is so big for me for since I’ve moved, the dream thief has stolen each and every one upon waking. I don’t know why I am not still given the gift down South that I had up North, perhaps the warm weather soothes the nightmares away, leaving only good words in the morning to put to life. I like to think so.

And I awoke this morning as my fingers moved, fast and steady typing on an old typewriter of all things, forcing each key down as I rushed to get the words out before they slipped away around the corner. My joints ached and I realized as the dawn of awakening tends to show, I remembered what I was doing, why my fingers ached. I was dreaming of  typing poetry and capturing each dream before it was lost.

Perhaps I should sleep with the keyboard on and actually get massive amounts of writing done, but then the mind wouldn’t rest and the fingers would fall off I would think. Besides, I like my sleep and why interrupt it with light. More comes from the darkness and with the light of waking, so much lost yet so much found.