On Halloween,
the unseen, seen,
and we all wear our masks.
Costumes, a show,
but who really knows
what’s real
and what’s pretend?
Our days,
they go,
slow and then fast,
and time just
ticks and ticks.
We bend,
some break,
some fix mistakes,
and all must meet
the end.
But for one night,
one night each year,
it’s easy to forget –
in that space,
masked face to face
we’re all
children again.
Poetry
High Spirits (A Poem)
Though you may
bury us,
we rise.
From ashes and mud,
blood and bone,
we remake ourselves
from the sand
and the stone
that covered us,
smothered us.
Though we are
gone,
our spirits are
strong.
We climb,
we reach
our withered fingers
into the sky,
and sing the song
no man can
silence.
Though few may
hear,
we will sing
for those listening.
Lucky Red (A Poem)
The color of
fortune
and
fervor,
of mornings
and sunsets,
of fate
and flair
and feelings
and flame
lays its claim
to the leaves
again.
And we –
only passing and
making our way
in this world –
we get to see
for the briefest time
this lucky red
that dyes
the ties
that bind.
How fleeting,
fading fast,
it seems,
and nothing lasts,
they say.
But this,
surely this
we can hold,
always there,
bright
and bold,
in our memory.
Weekend Rain (A Poem)
Picture it:
A cool breeze
and a constant drizzle
in the newly gold-tipped trees,
and inside
a warm house,
two lovers sit by a fire,
drinking tea.
“Rain all weekend,”
says the one, and
“That’s not so bad,”
says the other.
And it’s true,
you know –
there are worse ways
to spend
a couple of days
than inside, together,
just watching
the autumn world
turn damp and gray.
To Grow (A Poem)
To fade,
to fall,
to create space –
Nature doesn’t just
let go
in autumn.
It makes room
to grow.
Curiosity (A Poem)
In your life,
may you be
curious.
I wish you
questions,
and the
patience
and the
time
to find
answers.
I hope you
feel the joy in
not knowing,
and in
learning
and growing.
May you never lose
that
spark,
that wondering,
wandering
eye,
that makes you
think
and try
and ask,
“But why?”
Rainy Days and Mondays (A Poem)
Rain, rain –
big fat drops
on the roof in
pings and plops,
gathered on the spider’s web
and pooling in the garden pots.
Monday comes.
Time never stops.
A Time for Ghosts (A Poem)
Autumn is a time for ghosts.
When the days turn,
when the world comes to rest,
there’s space and time
for those who’ve
stayed behind.
In the changing of the leaves
and the chilling in the air,
the smoky breeze
and the golden sky,
they join us,
just there.
As close as a breath,
and far as they’ve always been,
as fall to winter and winter to spring,
they wait for us in that place
between.
Writer’s Block (A Poem)
Inspiration…
lacking.
And slacking on the list.
Hours turn to evenings with
nothing to show.
I know, I know –
I can do better than this.
(One breath,
one step,
one task
at a time.)
Just choose the words
and make them rhyme.
Take a moment
and let it grow,
let it live
and sing.
Just make something.
(Anything.
Yes, you can.)
Your Time Belongs to You (A Poem)
(…that I definitely didn’t write for myself, because I needed to hear it.)
Your time belongs to
only you.
So take it easy,
slow and steady,
and stop
and breathe
if you need to.
It’s okay to
just be
or to not
be okay.
The rest of the world –
it can wait.
