Dull,
brown,
dry as dust,
the trees and ground
cry out for rain.
The skies tease and threaten,
rushes of wind
and clouds of gray.
How long, I wonder,
can it possibly go on this way?
But the drought
goes on
another day.
Poetry
What It’s Like (A Poem)
One breath.
Two breaths.
A day at a time.
And what a funny thing –
to wait and dream
this way.
I never thought of myself as
a mother,
and now,
I wonder who I’ll be in an hour,
a month, a year,
how I’ll change
and stay the same
once she’s here.
I’m excited to meet us both.
The Coming and the Going (A Poem)
I can feel it, even now,
in the cool night air
and the subtle shift in the evening light,
and in the gentle way the leaves seem to sigh
and say,
“We are tired, and ready to let go.”
As one season waves goodbye
and another prepares to cross the threshold,
I breathe it in and wait,
and know:
All things come in their own time.
Waiting (A Poem)
The dark clouds roll in,
thick and heavy,
carried by ominous wind.
And we can only wait,
baited breath and ready.
Now is the season for storms.
Everything’s Fine (A Poem)
Short story?
What short story?
Oh, yes, that was today.
Well, see,
owing to a total lack of coffee
and a brief hospital stay,
it’s going to have to wait.
But that’s okay,
and most important,
(at least for now)
everything is fine.
There will be time.
Fly (A Poem)
It’s been a little while since I’ve done one of Rebecca’s poetry challenges over at Fake Flamenco. July’s challenge is a good one! Here’s my entry:
How lucky
are the little birds
to fly –
unafraid,
perched high and serene,
unconfined.
If I could,
would I?
It remains to be seen.
But I can watch the world
from my own
perfect perch,
the nest I’ve made.
It’s not as big
as the sky,
but it’s
mine.
These are so much fun. 😊 If you’d like to participate, too, you’ve got until Sunday. Can’t wait to read what everyone submitted! It’s so cool to see all of the different perspectives on one theme.
I Can’t Sleep (A Pregnancy Poem)
At this point, I’ve bought
FOUR
different pregnancy pillows.
And you know what,
I still can’t sleep.
I suppose it’s not surprising,
not a big mental leap
by any means,
since I’ve never been good at this.
But it sure would be nice
to curl up for
at least one night,
totally at peace.
And I have to wonder,
for those who can,
for those lucky ones who
drift off
quick and easy:
What is the secret?
Like, I have to be missing something,
right?
RIGHT?!
(I’m tired.)
Busy Bees (A Poem)
Keep busy,
little fuzzy buzzies,
at your most important industry
and know that in this garden,
you are safe.
Just look at the state of it –
overgrown and ardently wild –
a sign without a sign to say:
Pollinators Welcome.
(Humans, Proceed with Caution.)
I always hope that one day,
probably far away,
I’ll become a gardener.
In the meantime, then,
how lovely to see
that at least I’ve helped create something:
This space for you to gather
what you need.
And how nice, indeed,
to think that Nature nurtures
all on her own,
regardless of me.
Life With Cats (A Poem)
For today,
I’ll take a moment to
just be grateful
that Merlin
has only broken
one piece
of antique china.
(So far.)
Tilson (A Poem)
Margaret asked,
“Do you want his letters?”
And my grandmother said no.
My grandmother’s memory
of her brother
never faded.
Year upon year
to her,
he remained crystal clear.
And one day,
his fiancé,
who’d kissed his coffin
when he came home,
asked if she should return the letters
he wrote to her.
“Those belong to you,”
my grandmother answered.
Letters and pictures –
these are the things we hold onto.
But it’s the memories
that keep our loved ones
with us
when they’re gone.
We –
not words or pictures
or gravestones –
we become their legacies.
