Love is nothing like the movies – sometimes it looks like laundry and dirty dishes. Real love happens in the school drop- off line and hides in the bleachers of soccer matches and band festivals, simple ordinary times when a parent’s love fills all the empty places.
A shopping trip with old friends- we all look forward to searching out bargains, and we deserve a day out now and then – our passion is second hand shops where unwanted, discarded items get chances to shine once more, to find gentle mercies in life
We come, once more, to this thankful season. A time of introspection for poets whose cups spill over with syllables of love, with souls filled to the brim with joy and sadness, and hearts that beat out the rhythm of life and death with truth.
she takes her camera to the bit of land that she works looking for bees and butterflies hoping to find a Monarch flitting among the milkweed she has planted a place where they can lay their eggs, where caterpillars munch the leaves where peace is sometimes an illusion, as insects and birds play out the drama of who exists –
Waltmarie Poetic Form- 10 line poem, any subject, even numbered lines are 2 syllables and form their own poem when read separately. Odd lines are longer with no specific syllable count.
The morning sun slants through the kitchen window where I sit, surrounded by the lacey pattern the shadows make on the the wall. Amid the calmness of morning bird calls, Bach, and tea there is chaos at the bird feeder. Finches and sparrows battling for position, not waiting their turn – for theirs is a battle of survival not a negotiation for peace.
Next week it will be Spring again the crocus and daffodils that waited beside the tulips for the slanting sun rays to warm the earth will bloom and dull winter birds will put on their best feathers looking for mates and building nests, never doubting miracles like hope
I am never really alone Sometimes I hear the call of geese passing overhead as they migrate North or South, or feel a breeze as it brushes the trees. They wave to me and whisper the secrets of the forest, of birds, of beasts, of you
* Waltmarie Poetic Form- 10 line poem, any subject, even numbered lines are 2 syllables and form their own poem when read separately. Odd lines are longer with no specific syllable count.
Poets and Storytellers United – Weekly Scribblings #58: Two Into One Will Go
A Windy Day
The wind blew through today It rattled windows and doors boldly enough to make me look outside I love to watch the bare tree branches waving at me and laugh at their gyrations, realizing that they are fearless
I try to capture a photo of the chickadee outside Flitting from branch to branch of the choke cherry tree joyful My reflexes are much slower than his blurry Images are all I manage to capture colors Blended together as in an abstract painting of birds
Does the moon get cold hanging in the dark sky alone with only distant star-filled constellations for company at night I could bring him blankets and a pot of tea – no I shall find another moon to sit beside him, hug him tightly whisper secrets from another world, jokes that make him burst into laughter, dance, sing out love notes