I love that there is a line of light on the horizon,
a gleam just beyond
A glow of grey at the billowing edge of green,
the globes atop tree branches
It is dark in the corners –
But there, far away, it is bright.
Tag Archives: Poetry
Skin Deep
A bloody gouge across my ring finger
coagulated and dark by the end of the fray
Tiny teeth marks amidst pink raised skin
Ragged red streaks where fingernails have strayed
The physical signs of one morning of motherhood
These are nothing of the mental anguish,
the emotional toll
the trials and tribulations
of getting out of bed and out the door
Today there are scars to show
for all the toil
Outward reminders
of what is always underneath
Mother’s Milk
This tiny little person
latched on to my body
as long as I am wide
Miniature fist clenched around a rib of fabric,
holding on for dear life
Eyes arched in ecstasy,
then drooped in slumber
More parasitic than symbiotic,
but the sweetest symbol ever seen
Silver Insomniac
There’s a pool of light in the backyard
It spills over the tree tops
but appears to be carved out of the grass
an oval grotto of white,
silver amongst the shadows
If it weren’t for insomnia
I wouldn’t have seen it,
Wouldn’t have seen the cool, clear light
bright amidst the dark
Being awake at this hour seems unnatural,
is unnatural
in terms of the real world
But in the magic of these moonbeams
I am wide open
Nighttime Jewels
An island of green encrusted in jewels
illuminated by the light of oncoming traffic
globes of dandelion fluff sparkling
in the beams undercutting the night mist
a field of glittering diamonds
nothing but a mess of a nuisance by day
The Ghost of Winter
The ghost of winter,
a puff of breath
whisking swirls of snow
off the branches and into the air
suspended
a last gasp of cold crystals
the pine boughs flash frozen for a moment
and then it’s gone,
green grass poking through the raised mounds of snow
pushed upwards
by the fledgling growth of spring
a delicate dance
threatening
but gone in the blink of an eye
blackhillsfox.com
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
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.
