Bathroom floor scrubbed
Suntan lotioned bathing suits stain-treated
Nap taken
Words, pages, chapters read
Iced tea enjoyed
Bare skin breeze bathed
Weeds pulled
Pressure points needled
Junk food lunch eaten
First two days of empty nest filled
Category Archives: Poetry
Knots
Why do we not let ourselves be held?
Are we afraid of the fallout?
Of the softening
that occurs with the slightest
of pressure on the hard outer shell
Cracking the protection
we have absurdly built up
Thinking we can fool
the shadows that lurk
just out of sight
A touch, a push, a gentle squeeze
and it all comes rushing to the surface
Releasing the tension
that does nothing but tie us up
Grace
The bounce in the step
the joy bubbling up and over
through words, demeanor, joie de vivre
The hearty laugh
blossoming at the core, rolling out in waves
infectious, contagious, sanctifying – us
The conscious breath
undulating and growing with each notice
the physical embodiment of our existence
It fills us –
if we watch for it
if we train our eyes with a gentle gaze
if we open our heart to the gifts around us
It imbues us with a calming peace
and a loving embrace
We can all glide through life with a little grace
A Few of My Favorite Things
When a knit stitch pulls through smoothly, with satisfaction
The strength of a bond pulled taut, in spite of the miles
Connection
Certainty
Sun on your face
A wind rushing through the trees,
upturned eyes searching for a brief blot of the sun,
finding an osprey soaring high above
An upsurge of soul,
a welling of emotion
Fleeting, yet profound
We must seek these moments for all they are worth.
Just Below the Surface
The earth is still brown, the ground dull and bleak.
Leaves of brittle rust, crumpled and curled in upon themselves.
Evergreen needles even a muted hue.
But the air is different.
A hawk cries out as it soars above the seemingly dormant trees.
The deer move, the squirrels feed.
The snow looks sad in its blankets now softened around the edges.
insidecaledon.com
Piles of sand seal the seams of the roads.
Nature’s energy vibrates just below the surface.
All of creation holds its breath.
Breathe deep and release it.
In my Resting, In my Rising
I chase down cures in my dreams,
seeking the open office door,
the present practicioner,
but they’re never there, never open.
Test after trial, trial after tribulation
No solution in sight.
Tablet, pill, capsule.
Needle, scale, survey.
No magic bullet.
There are symptoms, there are diagnoses,
but no cure.
No point of origin to return to and restart.
I want someone to fill this hollow inside –
but the only cure is in there as well.
It lies at the core of me,
but I am so very tired . . .
and cannot wake from this nightmare.
Driving in the rain
Drops of rain accumulate on the windshield
A beautiful bubbled constellation
Slowly covering the world in a mist
Obscuring even the fog outside
Yet letting in the light
A shimmering shield
The refreshing whoosh of air overhead.
Spring Thaw
How satisfying to see a path carved into ice
by a tiny stream of water
Jennifer Butler Basile
A tunnel with curved sides,
etched in glass
so solid, yet ephemeral
A rivulet running through the sandy shoal of a street
Sheets cascading around and about our feet
Miniature ice floes to our giant selves
Undermined and fragile at the edges
if dense and sturdy at the center
Inert AM
A pair of disapproving elderly librarians
judging my three-time renewal of books
But I got special permission from the head librarian
A fleece-clad stranger cuddled in,
stealing blankets and real estate
But she’s asleep, so we’re asleep
The intermittent voices of a tin-can radio man
interrupted by the ever-increasing beeps of the alarm clock
Up and at the absurd
