that's mrs. mediocrity to you

::

let it

all go

and

ride the wind

wherever

it takes

you

::

happy thanksgiving

::

you hold all life’s gifts in your heart

all folded up and tucked
into the tiniest of pockets
held in place with
a gilded button flap

and you might even
forget all about them
for years at a time

but then one day

a moment will come and
you will sit down
quietly
in some corner
somewhere
and

unbutton

unfold

unforget

everything you’ve ever known

hold it gently
in your palm

slowly
breathe life
back into
that tiny body

offer
strength
and air and
vision
and hope

until eventually
both of you
begin to smile

in recognition

.

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

::

into

the

possibilities

of life

and

basking

in the glow

of

never mind

::

This November clematis was one of the last gifts
from my garden this year.

Two days ago, a heron flew over my house through a light snow.

This morning, three goldfinch stopped by my window feeder.

Life is full of surprises, gifts, moments.

And the older I get, the more these things feel like treasures.

Being alive feels like a privilege.

Breathing in the crisp fall air on a morning that’s
using frost as a blanket is all I need.

In less than two weeks, on November 27th, I am turning 50.

Fifty!

That seems like a number worth celebrating.

And so, I invite you to join me on that day in a celebration
of life, here, with a blog-link party.

Share how you celebrate life, in any format you wish,
a post, a photo, a poem, a song… and then
come back here and add your link.

Let’s celebrate life, together.

Okay?

Click here to go to the celebration post and add your link!

.

i like a nice cotton blanket

warm from the dryer and smoothed
out just so, laid to rest
just beneath that quilt he
bought for christmas one year

flying geese in all my favorite colors

and i bring it out each winter
tuck in corners, tsk tsk about the tiny
rip right there on the edge

a sign, i think
of wear and tear

or love

whichever you prefer

.

tonight i will take a long hot bath
so that later i might slide
clean toes between cool sheets

and this heavy cover of birds and blue
will weigh me down just enough
to keep me centered through those months
of white and wind that always threaten
to carry me off somewhere

now

you might think
i’m just a silly old woman
writing poems about ants
and apples and cotton blankets

but i tell you

this is where life is

.

.

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

is hope.

So much of life comes down to that.

What do you really need?

How little does it take to make you smile?

Beauty is never elusive.

Every day,

there is a lesson.

you know what you were meant to do
you know it in your
heart and you refuse
to listen
just exactly the same way
you never listen to the wind
in the trees at night
whispering moon love to the owl
the way you tilt your head and pause
when thunder rumbles
but never when the sky is blue
the way you walk past that same
dirty penny six days in a row
and never stoop to pick it up
you know what you were meant to do

sit down upon a rock and stay

until your back breaks

your palms bleed

your heart cracks open

every answer you need
will run down

down

through the fingers of hope
cupped to hold them

.

.

.

.

Linking up today with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night, join us!

this lake this forest these trees

i see nothing i see everything i can’t hear a thing for all this

noise

this deafening

silence

these colors all drawn in black and white and red all over

and i bleed

i cry

i close eyes i’ve never opened

i build castles in sand made from glass

throw stones into the fire

this blistering brilliant fire

shadows dance in the embers

crickle cracked red hot

embers

remember

the ghost shape of branches

the geometry of lumber

shelter

the diaphanous

pretender

this lake this forest these trees

.

.

.

.

Linking up today with dVerse poets for Meeting the Bar and some postmodernism, join us!

::

birds become leaves

blown fast from trees

in a hurricane of light

::

.

.

.

.

.

My small stone for Mindful Writing Day. Join in here.