Tag Archives: poem

Poetry

Where do hummingbirds go in winter?

A day of nothing,

that’s what I need to jazz me.

To recharge and kick start the engine.

But there’s always the danger of a day of do-nothing

leading to lethargy,

sad, morose thoughts.

Of not enough energy to do anything productive,

but enough guilt to keep away any enjoyment.

 

Where do hummingbirds go in winter?

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Living, Poetry

Strip of Summer

A strip of skin

crisp to the touch

kissed by the sun.

 

An out of context reminder

that summer is falling away.

 

Flowers bloom

but look sad next

to the heads of wild grass

bowing low

laden with seeds.

 

Vibrant yellow,

brown edges

creeping closer to the center.

 

Soon,

all will be dry and brittle

like a strip of sunburned skin.

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Living, Mental Health, Poetry

Memory Loss

We must leave the house at 3:45

No, wait, the bus arrives at 3:45

Aah, rinse the soap out of my hair and showering is done

Wait, did I wash my feet?

 

When there is a bullet of fog

lodged

in your brain,

it’s very easy for thoughts to get lost in translation.

 

The tricky part is remembering what the hell they meant in the first place.

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Faith, Poetry

Supernatural Help

 

I’ve been trying to let my heart be light,

let hope buoy it

as it inflates the cavity in my chest

where I think my soul would reside

had it a physical home.

 

The human mind is a fickle thing.

We think,

thinking we control it,

but it controls us,

foiling every good procedure we know we need to follow.

Our minds psych our selves out  –

of our minds.

 

There must be some outer guidance,

some supplication,

if our insides are not to roil about,

acidly eating away from the core, out.

 

A gentle hand

A supernatural help

There but for the grace of God, go I

 

where my heart floats lightly in the center of my soul.

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Living

Surreal Day

Marathon day of school shopping –

not the least disturbing part the leather-topped dresses in the children’s department.

Felt like a refugee by the end of the day –

traipsing through stores and tiled expanses, public restrooms and dressing rooms.

Dinner on the run after an impromptu fashion show –

neon-streaked drive home punctuated by dark.

Squares of Miami Vice tiling across the TV screen upon our overdue arrival – 

reluctant kids late to bed without a story.

Trolling online accounts in the unearthly glow –

waiting, searching for something to reach out and fulfill me.

Crawling into bed without connection –

my love already asleep though I am not.

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Living, Poetry

Out of Touch

Slip of a bra strap
Chain tugging at throat
Hair crawling on neck
Sleeves strangling

Cannot bear
for one more minute to wear
these clothes, these shoes, this jewelry, this head of hair

Lack of sleep
Swirl of chemical chimera
Environmental allergies
Sensitivity to touch

It’s just too much

Whatever the cause,
whatever the combination
it’s an assault on my senses

Damn my lack of defenses

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Identity, Poetry

City Bird, Country Bird

 

I flit above the treetops

you hear me chirp as I await the rise of the moon

The hush of evening falls over me

I revel in it before nestling my head under my wing

 

Yet another part of me

thrills to see the moon float above the streetlamps

another bulb – burning brightest

The cool of dark causing their glow to vibrate all the more

The energy of a people awaking to their culture

 

To be in two places at once

To fly from one pole to the other

To appreciate the beauty in each

 

To have a wing in each world

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Living, Poetry

The Center

 

How self-centered we are

to be governed by our emotions

and not the looks of pain on the faces of those around us.

To expect the world to orbit around our center.

 

The way we act shows it a thoughtless given in our minds.

 

To miss the fragile little being in front of us,

the industrious, frenzied flap of hummingbird wings –

the little things that should be front and center

so as not to be crowded out by the hulking beasts oh so eager to rule.

 

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