14 Sunday Feb 2021
Posted in Poetry, spirituality
give me now
the ache to ache
the fear to feel
no longer
a place forgiven
laid to rest
a place where empty stands
a dream to ease
the others
should e’er I dare
forget
a life where waits
the living
a hand within
my hand
. . .
04 Tuesday Jun 2013
Tags
ache, becoming, bliss, cherokee, connection, destiny, grace, knowledge, life, living, nature, old maps, passion, poetry, reason, restless, resurrection, soul signature, spirit, spirituality, truth, wandering, wisdom, wonder
by others I was known
do you recall
my name
ash and honeysuckle
maple
cedar
rain –
stayed with you
lay with you
how it was you knew
the same I was
as yesterday
you knew
the ache of
where we’re going
as pulled into the night
spilling over canyons
with our light
flush against
your wonders –
swollen heart to please
carved by your initials
my release
into the song
almost unsung –
birds of chatter cling
above the boughs
where once
we loved –
do you recall
my name
. . .
16 Thursday May 2013
Posted in Poetry, Storytelling, verse
Tags
acceptance, ache, betrayal, connection, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, life, love, memory, nature, passion, poetry, reason, spirit, strength, truth
last a stinging
vine of verse
was wound around my heart –
words were let
(remember how they hurt)
of solace kept alive
once more –
the strain for making rhyme
left me waiting here
– another time
of winters snowed
behind us –
a day (almost the same)
beneath a sky
this blue
I held your name
forgotten now
the meter –
breath (before the break)
one more verse
– was more than I
could take
. . .
08 Monday Apr 2013
Tags
ache, becoming, breath, cherokee, connection, death, dreams, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, life, love, memory, nature, old maps, reason, relationship, spirit, strength, understanding, value, wisdom, wonder
of loss
the greatest measure
an empty sugar bowl
reminds me of a past
not really gone
of jackets
in the closet –
clothes I’ll never wear
weightless I’ve surrendered
to their style
crowded little cobwebs
hushed where
nothing did
tired whites –
are starched with getting on
of sorrow
kept unnoticed
by the world of passersby
flowers bloom
to colors
not yet grey
breezes lift me skyward
from paths of yesterday
someone speaks
but I don’t hear
a thing
. . .
Author’s Note: For Charles.
Starry-eyed Writer, Cautious Philosopher, Hopeful Romantic
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