Tag Archives: poem

Poetry

Soak a Single Moment

 

Tart and sweet,

warmth running down my middle.

The cricket click of a processor.

The whine of refrigeration.

The wave of radiation shimmering in the shadow box of mullions.

No matter where I am, I can find the glow of the sun.

It and I travel all over, and yet, connect –

if I look, if I feel, if I stop to soak it in.

Sometimes the grandest thing to be done

is to do nothing but soak in the sun.

 

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anxiety, Poetry

To Your Corners

I want definition.

I want nice, neat little boxes.

If not black and white, then broad black borders to contain the colors within.

 

Classification. Order.

 

I don’t want things to merge, to blend, to intermingle.

 

I want to draw a line between thoughts and feelings.

I want to shut off that part of me responsible for irrational.

I don’t want to be able just to identify it, but send it packing.

 

There’s a difference between knowing and feeling.

 

I can know it all I want. I have to be able to feel it.

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Living, Poetry

Release

A rivulet of water running off the splash block
cutting an eddy through the sand and shell shards
pebbles and pickings from the beach
that landed on my driveway
months after the pluck
only after ice storms,
freeze and thaw,
cracked the plastic pail they called home.
The terrarium my kids toted home,
a miniature tidal pool,
silica and shale, pebbled granite,
remnants of the ice age released yet again,
eons later
by the elements
only to dribble down my driveway
into the gutter.

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Living, Poetry

Today

Some mechanical hum
the lonesome wail of a railway train
the cyclical sound of rain on window

The acrid smell of heat coming up
The warmth
as it soaks through my sweater
spreading from limb to limb

An upside down paint-by-number
with a hidden smiley face
Drink from that spring-fed well
that defies gravity

And go about your day

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Identity, Living, Poetry

How Low Can You Go?

My head keeps butting up against expectation

No amount of plying with my pronged horns can make it go away

Some holes poked, but never enough to tear the fabric,
to crumble the wall,
topple the tower

I can peep through the hole, see the happy people on the other side

Those who can see their blessings
who are pleasantly surprised by the unexpected
those overwhelmed by the ordinary, everyday miracle

Setting the bar is fine
but those who only try to go over
are always left in limbo

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Living, Poetry, Spirituality

One

Disparate sources

Un-disjointed by you –

The common denominator

Umami

Ujjayi

States of higher being

Sizzling pan-fried hamburger

Time stops and you with it

Don’t be afraid

Let the universe hold you

I’ve got you, she says.

Let go.

You are the center from which infinitesimal spokes shoot out

But you are not the only one

Millions rotate through the atmosphere

Spun by One

 

Feel One thing at a time.

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Living, Poetry

Miniscule Moments

The tiny tasks we do throughout the day.

 

The minutiae that eat up our time, but bear no importance to our conscience.

 

Pulling back the polka-dot cardboard piece to open the window atop the tissue box.

 

Placing items in the corner of the bottom step to fill shelves upstairs later.

 

Milk in fridge.

Bags in plastic column to be pulled out as needed.

 

A picture frame smashing to the floor, its glass front smashing into tiny pieces.

 

One clear shard a tiny scimitar slicing the terracotta tile.

 

There is life to be lived, but the slivers must be vacuumed.

 

And then the hose sniffs the crumbs just around the corner,

the detritus tracked in from outside –

grass clippings and unidentifiable pieces of bark

or dried stalks from dead flowers.

 

Stop.

 

There is always a mess to be cleaned up.

 

But time is limited.

 

We must be sure not suck our precious moments into the vacuum canister, lost forever.

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