Familiar Chorus

He flew south to her, tall as a tree, swift as a fleeing bird,
never faltering, yet, when the scent of oceans swept in
dazzling the spirit like chords of a harp; a heart, humming,
music fell over him; comfort of home soil,an affirmation of love.

~

Be Still

Be Still

Someone please stop
this merry-go-’round
and slow us down.

Breathe in and out
the sweet scent of sanctity
and follow beams of light
to a place
beyond the mountain

where the only sound
is your own heart
and the whisper
of angels.

Every morning
is a blank canvas.

You choose the colors
and the adjectives
that make them dance~.

Don’t you ever think
you are too good

to f a l l

because to stumble
is only a
missed – – – step,

to get back up,
a triumph.

Scattering Seeds

Bring me lilacs
and the scent of green
to revive my soul.

Deliver me

from ashes of the past;
the darkness of regret.

It takes many hands to bridge the gap;
between old
and new.

Accentuate beauty with a smile,
the sweetness of untainted syllables,
and the turn of a page
in my beloved book of psalms;
poetry to awaken the senses-

the language of love.

He knows every lock of curl,
every line in my palm
because he drew them there.

Nothing is unplanned
in this tapestry;
this mapped out,
unapologetic, unexplained life.

There is a shift in the atmosphere
every chord clinging to tomorrow,
feet firmly planted,

and not a single step back.

~

Of Love

Pour, you,
into this empty vessel
that I may drink
until every yearning is filled;
every seasoned word,
illuminated,
like stars thirsty for light.

~

Stay

From skies, floral; blooms, riddled with constellations,
an unconditional love flows like a river, slow, beckoning,
rippling with waves of joy. Oh, softest hues, Come to me.
Oh, broken, wounded hearts, come, to this resting place.

~

Like a Spring

Take from my hands all that I have.
Step from black alleys, crying rivers
or anything that takes your heart awry.
Weary, troubled lashes need light;
breath of unwavering, starlit spirit
to keep from tumbling into sorrow-
into the red, battered arms that took
you from this green, unencumbered
existence where only love matters.
Climb beside me, before me into the
place my soul delights and flutter free.

~

Talking To Flowers

 

Dear petals, soft
between my fingers:

You made me smile
before the world did;
kissed my face
with gentle whispers of

he loves me, he loves me nots

and fell to the ground
in a trail behind my dress.

Your scent, on my garden gloves;
you, pink and hiding
behind his back every February,

softly pressed

between the pages
of our love story.

 

 

~

The Record Skips

Two stars and an overgrown moon dance at 2:00 a.m. to an old love song that always reminds me of him, (which isn’t a good thing.) I traveled years to overcome this ache and the turning of this table spinning vinyl and red takes me back for six minutes to that painfully familiar sound of March rain when all I had to sustain me were prayers and poetry hidden between sheets and morning. The record still skips in that same spot making me pause and remember the only thing I don’t like about Spring.

~

Syllables and Glue

I know now
why you sound so familiar

crushing hearts in February;
needles still stinging
from the pine you forgot to take down

before you left.

I still see you kneeling
in maiden grass
with words of compassion,
but, I hear Sylvia when you speak,

especially at the end

when words went from mellow
to melancholy
when no one was looking,

but, I came looking
with soft syllables in tow
and love like glue

because I knew

and I knocked and knocked
but you never

let me in.

~

True Story

Just Before 2:00 a.m.

You invade my dreams,
take residence,

as I pretend
not to recognize
your crass demeanor;
your guiltless glance.

Shoulders fall,
head bows-

[indigent soul]

then I awaken,
unaffected

sigh.

~

That Monday in August

Lonesome for your ivory peaks, dizzy, giddy, gazing
upon your layers; now a hazy consciousness, purring.
I hold you closer between the clandestine constellations
and the jealous blue moon; daylight and shadows of dusk,
all the intimate moments in the middle; sharing your thunder-
the wonder of us; of him, that Monday in August, on one knee,
me: twirling still, beaming our love story, raining hearts
from the iridescence of your sacred atmosphere.

~