In between moments

I slip through the clouds,
the bulbous breathing clumps
like cotton in a blue cellophane bag,
high overhead in splendor
that lift my mind from the dirt.
My lingering room of dreams,
where I rest on the pillow of downy dampness
and wave my hand back and forth
up and down on invisible air
on car drives through the thickest night.
These creatures move like a flight of fancy,
carrying my moods like children unseen
and unheard waiting
for release
and these days yank my heart hard,
as I shake my head and wonder
why we cannot be as gentle
as the clouds above that move
in and around themselves
and bring comfort through dark days
when the skies grow stormy,
the culmination of time gives need
for the cleansing of the earth
and the minds of the masses
who have forgotten how to be kind,
how to be giving,
how to be human.
I need the clouds to carry it away
and pour the heartache into the space
of a tired world.
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Connecting color

Skies weave lights
waiting for stormy moments,
connecting color across the trees
and leaving me to wonder.
What pushes the balance
locked between two places
riding the line to find
solace in the coming times.
Frenzied minutes pass from dark to light
and I stand beneath the maelstrom
waiting for the passing of the rain,
drip drip against my forehead
as I stare at the beyond and wonder,
will this cleansing change the world?
Hopelessly hopeful
each new day that finds me stirring
my words like broth in a cup,
I sip on the tepid brew
and wish for ice chips to cool the soul.
Rainbows and wonder once stole my heart
and now these days they’re far and few,
but I stand still and wait
anticipating the greater things
at the end of the road.

The one thing I adore about where I live is the skies that come so alive during storms. Occasionally I glimpse a rainbow, and for that, I am grateful.

Growing wild

Cloistered in spaces unseen

gifts in crevices found

the colors of life grow wild in my life.

Rising in strength to become

a hanging cluster of goodness

lingering in shadows

but still hanging on.

I’ve waited for these things,

the beauty of life beneath

an awkward sun burns

to touch pavement beneath tired feet.

Coming days, months, years

awaken in their splendor

to find me waiting with open hands.

Tiny beings like dreams

wait to be plucked from the fertile mind,

and I return to find

the places I’d forgotten

still stand in glory,

the figment of want fulfilled.

This image, if it sticks, is a banana tree in my yard. It has been growing for years, yet never produced. Imagine my surprise to see the wisps of purple flower petals upon the ground…and in the tree, the gift of fruit, finally. I now have four bunches on four different trees. I love bananas, but this bounty is too much. My neighbors will be well fed.