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Cleansed

I used to wait for rain
stand, palms up, pleading
for earth to fall away

so I could bloom;

sat under that weeping willow
many a Sunday, sleeping
under the swish of limbs,
tremble of railroads
echoing at my back-
ears attuned
only to cardinal’s song
to fade the noise
of Monday coming,

It took years of suffering
to open my wings,
to close the umbrella
to feel the son;

to feel the sun.

~

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Love Letter #43: Finding You

I happened upon your syllables,
between pages of love poetry,
drew hearts around the letters
of your name, following mine
and filled myself

with a new perspective.

I watched a flirtatious moon
and its surrounding stars
dance a delicate finale,
blue as midnight,

like the dreams formulating
in my head

and as the sun rose,
like a swirling of skirts,
all of the faded wildflowers
I walked past before,
bloomed at my feet,

pink as these blushed cheeks
that rose and fell
for you.

~

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Morning Glory

 

Oh, light, posing promise,

                        like posies,

        picked apart, strewn;

             hidden,

        like morning glory,

 

                                blooming

                below bedroom windows.

 

Oh, jealous moon

     tempting twilight,

        with its scattered stars

 

         swirling,

 

  like the thoughts

         you left me with.

~

2

Faded Simile

I.

There are syllables swirling
blown through fingers
like kisses to the heavens;
love letters
running through my veins.

I tape poetry to my eyelids
and wake up in verse;

simile swirling in my coffee cup.

II.

There were pages penned
in a candlelit room;
notebooks hidden under the covers,

glass slipper rhymes
composed of dreams
in condensation
from weary eyes
and a faded simile.

III.

I saw your footprints
beneath disappearing ink;
snow covered paths you cleared
with loving sentences
fingertips brushing cheeks

lips upon quivering lips.

IV.

You never ended with question marks,
or frowned
upon ambiguous behavior,
you just stood
beside me, held me up

lay me down in wildflowers
like a gift
under the sun.

V.

I am broken, battered,
but devoted.
I am troubled, excitable, flawed,
but forgiven.

I stand,
even when I feel frail
smile,
mimic petals of a rose;

bloom, wilt,
and bloom again

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The Saddest Season

Blooming can be the saddest season.
Grow, spread,
wither away

like petals
from a tombstone
covered in last Winter’s poinsettias.

I closed my window ,
drew the blinds,
wandering through the wildflowers
of my mind

to the last glimpse of sun;
feelings following the scent
of honeysuckles

all the way to the end of April.

 

 
~Day 28 of NaPoMo *a poem a day in April for National poetry month)

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Love Letter #34: (the arts)

Paint me a sunset
in the midst of blue;
dancing green meadows
tickling my feet.

Beside lily pads,
let me lie, gazing

into pink petaled reflection,

and should darkness follow,
sing me a lullaby
before I fade away,
wrap me in poetry
before you close the chapter

of us.

Listen for a soft chime
when a constellations falls
and find me in feathered places.

~
Day 15 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for national poetry month)

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Shadow of a Lily

Clear the vines
from my window
and break the silence
until whippoorwill’s song
invites morning
through sheer blue curtains,
watching branches sway;

sunny lilies in waiting
painting yellow shadows
on the wall.

I’m listening.

~
Day 10 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)