that's mrs. mediocrity to you

and

the beauty of brittle

the freedom of

letting go

holding hands with life’s sadness
old loves on a corner
with no place to meet

the silence of soliloquy

or the tree
that falls
to tell its own story

setting seed

also known as

forgiveness

…

it’s friday again
and also

snowing

the birds breathe fire
and singe the cat’s hair
and i’m finally able
to say:

spring

(but no one hears me)

…

the color of love
and the scent of sunshine

sweet and sharp
short and poignant

ephemeral

…

…

beauty

springs

from the humblest

roots

…

and smiles at dawn

good morning, sunshine

all along

as if it were possible

to live anything

but

the life lived

the moment living

the day dreamed

the evening

revealed

…

it’s not that
everything’s rosy

or perfect
(the horror!)

but there are flowers

and sunshine

presiding over tea

and i have this minute
(just the one)

to marvel
at the color
of stamina

…

i refuse to say

hang in my heart

on bits

of knotted thread

and wrinkled ribbon

swaying

in a barely moving breeze

wrought

from distilled smile

and cornered

memory

.

roots

fresh new growth
in tiny green houses

we remember
we cherish
we reminisce
we pine

today, the sun shines
lilac leaves reach
for gold
and warm light

soon
purple scent
will fill
every corner

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.

.

breaking
ground

as if
we could plant

the seed
that will
save us

.

. . . . .

.

here i am again, doing this again–30 days of poems, hoping the words will come.
hoping hope will come, as well.