Constant movement

Days move through
within me and without
the tether to bind the touch
of creating words
into new views.
I wandered the path
of sand strewn beaches
and withered away beneath
the blazing sun,
in between cause and effect
I found the balance lay
in a life along the shores
of bliss.
Where I have I been?
This state of constant change,
of movement like waves
that lift me to heights
dreamed by a child who knows-
time has become a friend
that I call by name and welcome,
to sit and stay, to ruminate on thoughts
over a glass of Chardonnay.
I miss these moments when they’re gone
and wonder where I shall allow
the current to carry me now,
this hollow vessel that needs to anchor
to wallow beneath a starry sky
and remember why.

Hello my friends, it’s been a while and I’ve been still here in this wonderland
of time and circumstance-but have taken the gift to create. I’ve written a few books and have a few more on tap,
but for the first time ever, have worked on one of poetry. Who would have thought, I know, right? October 12th my baby will be released to the world.
The only good thing that’s come of the Covid is it has given me endless time to work on things near and dear to my heart. The book thing is a passion that I cannot stop and though it pulls me away, it’s been amazing to get back down to it and craft words of poetry. My fear was that without the splendid images, the words would fall flat, but in my heart I know they’ll rise on their own and become truths.
I hope you are all doing well, that your hardships have been minimal during this terrible time, and that your family and loved ones, friends, and fur babies are all thriving. I’ll be back more often, as my husband has requested I stop in and visit more often (he misses the poetry morning email that arrives in his empty iPad mailbox) so that I shall, happily.

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Awash in beauty

Life moves forward, twisted bumps and turns exhaust

the feelings of uncertainty- here we gather in single formation,

buds on the line weathering storms created,

as indecision inspires the muse of words, spinning out of control she bleeds on parchment and weeps for the skies.

In the middle of nowhere the song rises, reaching ears in prisons without walls, flying high to gather safe,

One bird, two bird, ten come forth to mock as life unfolds,

Minutes, seconds, ticking by in their haphazard way-and I watch before drifting into afternoon slumber, the flowers unfurl from rest,

Uninhibited by the goings-on of us mere mortals who cower, afraid for the invisible madness that may or may not strike, perhaps it is we that now gaze in jealousy of a young cardinal on the line who sings a song,

Flying high and away, things we can only dream of in this hour.

I am watching the unfolding of creation and have found a sacred peace as witness to that which I had forgotten.

I spy greatness in the Orchids, and thus, I am alive to the forgotten calling of allowing.

Quicksilver moon

Words slip…
sliding down paper tongues,
nestled amongst forgotten tomes
of history remembered
in dusty attics.

Sharp tongue slays the beast
of a procrastination hour
left lingering beneath the quicksilver moon,
waiting for the crystal cleanse,
the heart hastens to grasp
the birth of an image.

Who we become when no one sees
the hands moving through the story’s rise and fall,
splayed like paint across barren walls,
we write our future in the clouds
that descends over the light
of luna’s delicious irony,
here and gone,
the void deep and wide.

Hasten the mind to bring forth,
in reason and madness the spirit toys
with the lopsided circumstance the creation rising,
becoming one of itself-
a silly song sings of a child’s logic,
and nimble fingers draw the way
down the page of a new story born.