Once youthful and fresh with vibrant petals scented Now dried and withered, fragile, faded, wrinkled, brittle. Advertisements
The tick, tick, ticking clock resounds off the walls of the tiny room, reminding her each second she is alone. It’s always the same, she awakens, moves to the window and sits. Waiting.
The scent of earth after a gentle rain Memories washed in shades of autumn’s gold Tempers the black grief, relieves the harsh pain Seasons changing leaves once brilliant yet cold
Time, so precious here and now in the winter of my life as I ponder what I’ve done and what I’ll leave behind
Today is overcast with sporadic rain showers. I wished for rain on my birthday and here it is. Unusual for Arizona. While running an errand, I look up into the slate sky and I see them. Flying above the neighborhood community whose cruel nickname…
a hat to cover the body of our master withered pampas leaves Shinshi (haigo of Takarai Kikaku)
In the dreaming hours juxtaposed between keeping watch on the ticking clock and
She perches in a crook of the mesquite tree with the gnarled bark surrounding her. A brilliant flash of green with a rosy face. There is an aura about her, eyes once alert to every move now glazed, beseeching. A black crow sits above…
“Ravens are the birds I’ll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.” ― Louise…
In my sleep I whimper as you whisper my name calling me to come hither in the shushing haze while the hypnotic pitter patter of the morning rain plinks upon the piano keys of my ragged pain
And when she arises from her watery grave, in a smoky swirl above the calm frigid lake she walks with him along a familiar trodden path, feeling his heavy sadness and hot bitter wrath for being forsaken.
I cannot see you but I know you’re here for the wind whispers your name and the mockingbird high in the mesquite mimics the blackbird’s song in memory.