“Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we’ve ever met.” ― Marguerite Duras My hands that held yours in the last months of life have now become your hands a parchment of antique white Though memories of you never leave In dark shadows of missing you, I only need to… Continue Reading “My Hands, Your Hands”
Though the landscape is cloudycolossal trees illuminate the pasta lifetime forgotten in rosy brown huesof roughened bark and spiraled rings in wood. And so you seek sweet tranquilityfrom yesterday for now you can seeancient history proves this- seek and you will findthough questions aren’t… Continue Reading “An Irrefutable Truth of Tranquility”
Morning dewsprinkling wildflowersemblazonedwith colorgoldenrod, chartreuse, hot pinkliving confetti Author’s Note: Day 7 of National Poetry Writing Month.
The memory of your words crushed like stones on well trod streets pummeled beneath the feet of humanityAnd though I tell myself you didn’t mean what you said they cut a swath into my heart andinfested me with a macabre plagueI tried to hide from the stinging blood your diseased… Continue Reading “The Memory of Your Words”
Beneath sheltering treesred rose lips touch mineas a curious mockingbird singsto gentle falling rain In our secluded refugethere is no lingering painonly you and me againas we savor lush ruby wineand lie in a bed of leaves dVerse: Quadrille #125 In Praise of the… Continue Reading “Refuge”
A tragic innuendo-closed for renovations but sometimes, an ardent heart never re-opens becomes a sacrificial lamb when intimate relationswhispered conversations no longer emblazon the salt moon with sweet intentand all that remains are fire brick cindersyearning for a flame Author’s Note: Day Four of National Poetry Writing Month.
Blooms on butter yellow roses whisper sending goosebumps across my skin the tender voice of my mother calling, ‘Come see it’s Spring again!’ Mockingbirds caw mimicking rowdy black crows as jeweled hummingbirds chase tiny gnats mid-air, fat honeybees amble from flower to flower, subdued by their burden of golden pollen Here in the garden, curious… Continue Reading “When Shimmering Sunlight is Perfect”