Sunset
Oozing orange Julius
Changing light
Finally
Rests
Author: Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen
As a Bohemian poet, photographer and artistic spirit, I strive to thrive beyond survival hoping my insights, wordsmithing and photographic eye will help heal others as I heal myself.
Sky Writer
Clouds
seemingly on a mission
eek across vast sky blue
bright children giggling
acting like sprinklers
tickle and tease with their droplets
wet
Blades
…virtual wilt…
Grass
Cool shade
Protects my body
From
Virtual
Wilt
As breezes
Apt to whisk
Away any dew
That has settles on my lips
Cruise through trees
Dripping green
Phantom Dreams
Under eider down
and lofty hopes among croaks of river frogs
at day’s end
while safely sleeping soundly
our ancestors come to visit
Shifting in dream’s quirky state
through weight of quilted veil figures emerge softly focused
with familiar faces
Far, far away from flesh they are
now only in picture frames
hung on walls of polished wood
Gilded lilies in a vase nearby
pay homage to the cycle of life
upon the mantle of burning oak
coals from embers that once shone bright now fuzzy but still clearly authentic only different
Mere memories now of the hugs and kisses as Gravenstein begins her bloom and mama thinks of pie
A certain stillness stirs under
the waxing moon casting shadows of what once was
separate reality wiggles in
with eyes closed a vision appears
two brothers twin and weathered ball tossing to and fro above the yard’s vast blackberry patch beyond harm or foil
A swift breeze hence a wind-chill
from beyond tombstones and treacle sticky steps up a spine unsuspecting
giving goosebumps a run and hairs on end though fear is not an option here as there’s no room for incubus within these bedroom walls only peace
Apple of Thine Eye
oh no
he thinks it’s his to raise
what will i do
mother knows the truth
saying i had to deal with it
but it is meant to be
and i’m only settling in on sixteen
and have yet to gadabout the world and fall in love
beyond our bucolic backyard with apple trees
and a worn out tire swing hidden beyond a hill
the faded roses trampled now under grass
by an old grey dog biting at the thorns left over from his romp
I yearn to see more life than just within these four walls
rendering more or less sorrow from dazed wine and cheese gatherings
Hung along the banisters like wilting grapes in early winter
wallpaper walls softly fade waiting for repair and a stroke of fresh paint
like the old carriage out on the neighbor’s lawn along the way i yearn for more
how will i let daddy know that this growing being within my walls carrying high
will not just fade nor go away
it will bloom soon manifesting steady true as the rising sun
i just hope he understands
that what happened that one night beyond his watchful eye
and saltpeter filled bebe gun denied
my clandestine lover slipped in one night
in through the window battenburg curtains billowed and adjusted
then his slipping under covers speaking in whispers
Recapitulation rendering seed into blossom
this girl emerging into woman wise far beyond her years
now climbing the rungs to heaven holding soon my own bundle of joy
he will teach my young as my youth slips away how to build another swing
out of another old tire and spin her around until she is dizzy with giggles
and flushed smooth cheeks as her emerald eyes twinkle in sunlight
i hope he finds with this child of mine his second youth
bathing in glorious laughter, love and light watching his kindred spirit grow
i may soon bring a little girl into the world but he will never lose his in me
i hope he knows that there will never be another love quite like him,
he will always and in all ways be the very first apple of my eye
only now soon, as I witness, he will have another one to cherish
well attended another apple of his eye
Rearview Christmas
“…laughter jolly rolled easily…”
Once upon a time
years ago in youth
Evergreen and fancy free
strings of lights
Thrived magic
When cookies and milk
Left out one special eve
turned into presents
opened wildly abandon free
Just past dawn
Excited smiles
and giggling glee
with warm soft happy hands
Ribbons
unfurled like ticker tape
Paper once smooth rested assured in crumpled mass
Its job well done in keeping surprises and secrets.
After earning angel’s wings
in purely driven snow
children’s faces sticky
with marshmallowed cocoa
Hands grasping cool peppermint sticks
shaped like shepherd’s crooks
Brought in misfit flocks
If only for this day
No one thought of arguing over the last piece of pie
Wide-eyed looks continued
on quest for cookies spicy ginger sweet
shaped like dolls
Arms outstretched
as if seeking hugs
with red hots for buttons
raisins for eyes
and frosted messy smiles
Laughter jolly rolled easily
Off tummies full and round
out in yonder yard along
picket fence stood strong
Lent support to
Berry-less blackberry branches
turned wiley thicket
during winter’s spell
A bird feeder danced
whirling easily
to and fro from fruitless branches of an apple tree
its harvest a recent memory
like a lovelorn dirvish
in chilly northerly breeze
A cardinal darted
back and forth to and fro
Feathered wing
spanned wide
in less time it took
to breathe a breath of awe
Gathered feast in bursting beak he lifted quickly
to sky with seed swag .
Yonder stood
a snowball man
One-two-three globes atop each other capped off by
Borrowed woolen hat
and eyes
of chipped up charcoal
Gazing into forest where
Reindeer wait to frolic pulling sleigh hoping this time would last forever.
Tiny Angel
“…comfort and joy.”
As the scent of giving thanks barely fading
the pagan festival of winter begins
Yonder breaks and timbers a mighty evergreen
crack, tumble and falling gently
upon clouds of driven snow with a flurry
Sugarplum fairies and nutcrackers sweet dance
We frolic with our wide-eyes lit by stars
twirling ’round and ’round garlands green
holly and the ivy adorning branches
testimony to the cycle of life
Appearing on high rests an angel
winged light and gossamer hair lifts silvery
within her arms cradles are our dreams
holding with goodwill and peace to all
Patient and silent on this night
willingly guiding us to the light
Leading us to regain lost hope
during this season of love
offering a cup of wonder from which to drink
quenching parch with fine mulled cheer
We raise our glasses to the festival of light
creating another memory of
comfort and joy.
Removing the Mask
She missed the mornings when hello was the first thing on his mind
the soft dawn breaking just beyond the tall redwoods seemed so dark of late
With the shadows resting without dancing
in heart shattered left in pieces on the wormwood floor
overcoming the light temporarily
She thought of how in earlier days his hands could hardly get enough of her
Now, it seemed, he fumbled mumbling
and played a role wearing masks
Gentle good graces finding ways lost longing lasting
Crashing onto the forest floor like
shaken pine cones loose from thimbled gnarled branch
outstretched for something more than the less of late
Ebbing far and few between now
those hellos seemed empty and forced
She found sitting now on the deck of her abode alone
save for the birds and sleepy bees with wings pollen sticky
heavier among hum of season’s first pounding rain
her lover though laying near and resting
miles away drifted by the pushing of her erratic mood pining for balance
the way she once was before after beginnings honey and moonshine
riding this sea of sorrow with its steely coldness upon her skin though culpable in palpable discomfort though oh so familiar this boned handling cutting like a well forged buck knife with stains and divets
Taunting her happiness like a jester in court near curiously laughing to himself, a bluejay sits screeching and cackling watching over all of this just a joke of all jokes
Only she was no longer laughing
Buzzard
circling round wings settle into wind diving towards the ground to devour carcasses of others’ lives
Are you two still together is asked and barely answer given
he takes off again
swiftly like bird of prey
talons out
ready to pick at bones
looking for another swig of whiskey with an insult chaser
California Zephyr
…beginning to see the light after darkest moments…
Her eyes gaze upon low riders on tracks winding wiley as unknown vagabonds come out to play bending precious pennies in hopes of finding stories fortuitous deciphering
graffiti sprawled across will offer answers to the silvery lined trails trodden and easing tribulations of life
like them, she is trying at it all over again
eeking out change
in her cozy berth
slowly
gathering
gumption
whistling plans once flawless innocently lost
trekking off beaten paths from the curbs’ worn edges
Dark as coal hitting the ground running wittingly unfettered
no boss here but death from an old life transforming
like a wet butterfly spreading wings
fresh and finally fancy free
as the conductor of tracks deep once in driven smoggy stained snow
jumps up rocking dog lucky tired from the once before
danger shifting out of obsidian abyss finding solace in her broken but mending heart
shaking loosely and raw skipping a beat
but never stopping pursuit of healing from the toss down internally
shaken from reservations, fouled fickle fortune hurdled she breaks free heading up the along the coast pacific observing sunsets after watching the moonlight cry all night
meandering towards loving the end of the tunnel regardless of her
eyelids once heavy and raw from tears beginning to see the light after darkest moments
riled up and ready her life to release the old pain of the old tracks made by her choices
discovering, finally, along this journey towards the end of tunnel light
a new home arriving in herself illuminated
Wallflower Muse
Twilight settles below grand canopy of ancient trees shifting dangling light as a gathering brood in plaid flannel and weathered Levis with a taste for song and local wine returns
Planted firmly on well worn whitewashed porch swing shifting with the breeze coiling ready to strike
she observes quietly, softly
admiring how it seems easy
oh so very so easily
do others ever so easily find familiar in all of these faces and exchanges swapping stories about this and that
so and so in a laissez faire way in a language, though pined to, tried to,
she rarely could relate but nonetheless understands
Going on and on about
such and such swapping stories about the everyday mundane things of that and this talking about everything but their soul’s true desires, quests and yearnings
Continuing on and on,
over and over
chattering, laughing like squirrels stealing seed from the birds they
hum and buzz about neighbors and business of the who’s who, the what the what’s and my-oh-my why and the did-you-hears about the happenings of others almost anything else than sharing their authentic selves, really
Yes, that would be
all too real
all too revealing thus
Along the flowering wall she sits, drinking it all in casually and writing in shadows comforting yet still a bit envious of their easy connection as pen scratches in the green butterfly journal
Flashing in a moment the story further unfolds telling all clarified by quiet observation as light catches garnet wine shadows
she finds amusement that their business is no serious matter for her as she is almost invisible safely owing no one an explanation of her story
Embracing enchanted forest surroundings she finds instead soothing solace in surrendering to smithing words as a trade off in not always connecting like they seem to sometimes, usually, oh-so-so easily do maybe someone will hear her voice
Among woods flickering shadows and hidden gardens somewhat muted yet still strongly boned up along trellised terra cotta accepting her precious presence finding herself pondering the perpetual satellite state she’s attained
Setting sights higher than lingering like a lounge lizard wrapped up in small talk and idle chatter
the shedding of her self-induced mental shackles begins the next chapter
Hunkered down, ready and astute she begins
putting perspectives to pen
unleashing thoughts cathartic and finally free
A poets soul, has she,
celebrating she does
still yearning to dabble
in a world of this and that connecting in that way they all seem to do so easily very easily so yet discovering
stones settling cobbled beneath her feet
setting her path towards
her true light calling
Clearly beaten by an all together different drum
she is finally becoming comfortable with that
banging her drum soft and steady onward for the course studying her own life
preparing to share it with the world.
Call Waiting
My damn phone is attached to my hip pocket like white on rice
My damn phone is attached to my hip pocket
Like white on rice
It’s like a drug or a small child or even a puppy training on a leash pulling at my hand.
Watch me.
Look at what I can do.
Look at me Look look look look at ME
Feed me.
Touch me.
Play with me.
All the time.
Allllll the time.
Sucking me into an electronic hypnotizing vortex
I avoid all eye contact with humanity.
On this contraption every damn day. Annnnd night.
Mesmerized by its blue light and power over me
Like us all
I stare LOL-ing in stitches for hours upon hours transfixed
Looking at my life
on this screen in Helvetica or times
it is comic with sans
We are all blah blah blahing on blogs
bragging about our lives without living them
Panic sets in when we lose sight of it.
OMG!
Where’s my PHONE??????
Like some
peeping-tom diary
Auto correct whore twists my words into pretzels
While I remain a
slave to its charm
It is a sham set up by the government under the guise of connectivity
Tracking me down like an entranced
antisocial media zombie
I have been sucked in
by the dark side
of its glow
It seems to me since this device was invented intended to connect ironically we have forgotten how to communicate.
I am slowly becoming less me and more iPhone.
Put it down.
Say goodbye to it
if only for a day.
An hour
if that’s all you can handle. See what happens
as it sits far away
from riding up your ass.
Turn to the person next to you and say hello.
And laugh out loud.
Take a memo to yourself and declare I am “ME” again damn iPhone.
Cost of Freedom
…because of boys to men we have this day…
Beyond the Mason-Dixon line magnolias fade from bloom a mere memory as the brigades grow dividing and shaking the houses’ very foundation to the core
Fields of grasses yeild under heavy button boots with ragged soles as young boys march on and on unsteady with shaking hands and faith nearly broken
A portrait of black and white, of wronged and neglected rights, dogma chasing dogma simmering tensions coming to a point surrendering to many a sacrifice and melee
Laden heavy with worsted wet wool and leather plackets sticky with sweat and hidden fear staying only for a moment then fleeing into bravado for sake of freedom
Air heavily perfumed with the sickly sweetness of eluded hygiene and day’s old mud clumping together as if safer in numbers and heft
Long honed hard cold steely bayonets brush against icy bark cracking off limbs tripping breech loaders temporarily out of the arms of babes into battle bombardment
Windows of widowed souls left watching from afar from behind ratty lace curtains as the boys dart and dash from beneath matted hair scanning the hillsides for any brief encounter with sanctuary for just awhile
Barking marches ordered under guise of peace all the while tearing them to pieces boasting colonels act as braggarts often must do, bullying valor to stand at attention with intent masterfully trained untarnished standing their ground righteously relentless
Pining for days gone by, these young bucks, for the recent past of warm hearth homesteads, motherly touch and hot home cooked meals
Now, the young wide-eyed innocents take direction unquestioning authority for a cause
Humanity quickly stripped stark and bare stippling into piles as the stench of burning hair and flesh rises up through the air thick and heavy trampled under foot
These young bucks brawny beyond belief committed to the cause of their uniformity although you would never know it by the look in their eyes
With peaches and cream on freckled faces still plump with baby fat they yelp a rebel yell and descend into their innocence lost
It seems to them that it was only yesterday they surveyed the family acreage scattering crows from off the corn harvest under the pie-eyed moon
Pyramids of hay bales lay curing on the fields hiding needles and swooning ladies with button down shoes and small brimmed feathered hats
Or perhaps they were just herding cattle coaxing a lone rogue calf back to the barn after a lazy grazing day and crossing rivers but, nay, this fresh hell was reality now
After the smoke and dust settle circling carrions on high exposing their hungry underbellies and soot black wings intent upon
Yonder pile of boys, buttons, boots and bloodied uniforms lay refuse to get up ever again
Truth of the matter is life has been disposed like rubbish in hoards
Handcuffed to honor, death hangs thick and heavy on these hills
All for the sake of freedom
The dogs of war handed their lives to them only it was on a tarnished platter
Duty, honor love and war do indeed have costly price few choose to pay readily
Lives short-lived in the name of life
Because of boys to men we have this day
Ours is ours to live on and on
Because of them, that is,
Yet for many, that was their last, they have no more days
We owe homage to those boys of honor; they became men for us
We are free to live our lives because they gave up theirs’
We indeed have freedom but aye, at what cost?
The Last Act
…he will trample you until you enjoy it…
along shores of ancient woods where fairies dare not tread and rambling rivers merge a high hot wind circles the tent like a noose
a black rabbit flies out of a hat on the wrong cue coaxing two ravens out beneath a long black cape screaming like Valkyries into startled crowd
the magician pretends this a part of the act his weathered honed bony finger distracting towards the skies like electric pinwheels in dark dry air as hairs on your neck stand up
the poles pull muslin taut and loose again snapping like a whip arousing your interest as winds whisper into a howl calling out the magician’s true moniker – Odin
for an instant, his eyes catch yours paralyzing you and you know the jig is up, concede to his unwavering gaze you must; there is no other way to survive his wrath but to submit
he has never been more daring…….racked in chains and padlocks submerging into deep dark water bubbles lifting to the surface writhing to get free you are hooked into his war
his iron clad chains emerge from just below the surface raising his body unblemished as you realize his fury in the wave as the crowd reaches a frenzied state beyond reproach
Someone from the back of the tent cries “FIRE!!” as the pyre sets ablaze he remains still…….. Valhalla is calling this warrior home and you are but his royal ancestral sacrifice
there are no survivors; he will be with you always calling you by your true name
he is the shadow of your fears, bad debt, the deafening silence at the end of the phone
he is the glass slipper, the loom, the thorny red rose, the terrors of your night
he is the mirror on the wall cracking with unsettling truth
he is the horse hoof with iron foot and he will trample you until you enjoy it
he is the unspeakable and the only language you will ever understand
White Witch
…so familiar this battle with darkness…
Casting spells
into the belly of the hill
on bristly dragon charred broom
shifting shadow selves aside
as wet leaves stick up
in momentary protest
of dark disturbance
her gaze focused diverting deeper
into the canyon’s crags
those damn worms
in her brain rearing
had camped for
far too long deeply rooted
as she began emerging
once again unease settles in
so familiar, she thought,
this battle with darkness.
Find the lullaby
Find the lair of serenity
Find the lesson
Find the light
Bit by bit
Epiphany hit
it has all been about
Finding
Family
Pins and Needles
…she could feel herself emerging transcendant…
With timid breaths awakening she eases precarious legs
twisted like fiery flywheels pining for borderline gait
arms nearly ready to once more hug again in unison with her heart
when not so long ago laden with plaster purple thick and pin burdened
digging sluggishly exposing the rawness of her skin
Feline warmth times two nestled into the downy swirl of quilted breathing
a steadiness slowly emerges calming her savaged fragile shell
Reaching down with her good hand touching fur
she realizes recapitulation in this recuperation
this
is
life
triumphant
Where once
in not so distant past
her security within her own body eluded her
by eyes of needles and tingling threads
inserted deeply into bone
clawing chewing at her insides like hungry belly bulging rats
She could almost feel whole again
Torn and mending flesh scars prove evidence of her survival
eyelids a bit blurry heavy with taunting weighted tears
still she saw past the bed covers’ downy horizon
despite tossing about twisted from last night’s terrors and dreams
Just this side of being on the outside her window she watches impatiently still
undulating branches bring back reality with the weight of woodpeckers as
ancient redwoods keep sentry saluting her moxie every which way with wonder
she marveled at the glow of how amazing this day actually is
in its simplicity in its testimony to life’s perpetuation in perseverance
Part of it all, she realized, she was part of all of this earthly world
her body may be broken but her spirit remains bright
though a once solid foundation beneath her cracked and split
she could feel herself emerging transcendant
Where once quicksand sucked at her into a vortex
she was rising above the not-so-sweet treacle and brimstone grind
she found herself wittingly able to pull herself onto the rolling chair
take it for a spin knowing she would once again dance like before freedom fell
Easier this then on that blessed day, horrah-horray for this vessel’s cracks, she cried
for in those cracks she found the light more easily welcomed
Piracy of the Heart
…the stinging honey of your piercing lips…
You talk when you walk with your swagger and depth
Speaking phrases with your boot flapping feet walking down the road
suggestive of another way of being with you
As if the chattering of the parrots above likely jealous of your walk
as they can only but fly away in a flurry of wings breathless
to the stinging honey shouldered from your piercing lips
Dripping sweet nothings easing into my world ever-so-gently
coaxing into caring lying as if a treasure trove awaits
Your cadence is cacophony across my ears rendering false melody from my heart
The whole wide human race has never seen the likes of you
Getting on with your giddy-up gadabout ways and easy saunter
You think you pulled wool over eyes and created a safety net
But the piracy of your ways shines through the dark cloaked heart
from the cool wet darkness of where you truly dwell
Rough Road
…her blood began to boil…
Falling like a house of cards under thumb of gentle breeze,
the earth now pushed aside and fronds of fern
ripped up from the ground like turnips
From murderous crows spanning wings and talons
flocked from nests once high now low
The red queen saw heart and soul scatter to the forest floor
Picking up the pieces of her past her blood began to boil
Twisted into a human pretzel, her hips on fire, she bled cutting
Through thick and thin she cursed the night where once was blessed and sweet
Turned metal twisted and her body into a wounded mass
A hearth once warm and safe
She found herself now a broken woman, mere mortal in her fate,
Face to face with her anger over it all
Afterall, it was she who was in the driver’s seat.
Miss Mosh
Dance, little sister, dance
Stomping on in dervish manner in leather and laced martens to driving groove
Playing doctor nursing spiked hair pointing cutting sky high and angry
The mosh pit grinds to a screeching halt with gaped mouths and curious furious stares
As a little sister punk-ette all in pitch black and chains from ear to toe shining with thorn rosey cheeks from the steamy heat of body to body
she approaches the monstrous mash with thunderous bravado smashing in like juicy grapes plucked from twisted vines
Starting in with steady stance stunning the Holsteins of the night until she wants to go home
Twisting into flesh like a corkscrew music pulses and throbs deep plucking
out note for note beat for beat
Chains and cat-o-nine tails flick up towards cracking sound barriers through
limelight shadowing out the glow of beaded sweat and spinning bodies
Bested and staid smokescreens shiver on stage with mics badgered with gutteral
As the cacophony settles into syncopation peppered with salt to a wound
amplifying sound into melting earwax like frost in sun
Ruining again angst strapped up shoots from tips of boots laced
leather taut as the pain subsides in her head as the pit grows wilder
Dance, little sister, dance
The night is yours and you are young
Mama Wasp
The memory of wasps is considerable
Think of the way
just days ago as
combed tight content hexagons
were forcefully swept
from the upper corner of the portal
Wing dander, barely opaque veins dismissed
with bits of yesterday’s news and strips of old receipts
their thermal paper blackened by the heat
flew zigzagging into streaming sun rays like violent ticker tape strewn
Prying away dried cases
straight away swiftly by whisk and tippy- toe reach
one dusk the papery hive fallen from its grace
leaving but a few white eggs scattered on the deck
like soft tombstones
Now
on this succulent sunny bright morning
she returns to the abandoned hive
to the pile of bramble cut and fit to be tied
a mother wasp rises up from the shattered shell
and goes for her eyes directly
Jersey
Undulating road curves run along wild flowering fields near craggy palisades as a stand alone cow cries and frets
Her calf nowhere to be found normally nestled up along her sleek loins chewing cud gazing at fences as grasses chuckle and whisper….you are lost without her
Teats full of milk plump ready to burst along the rocky edge seemingly less content as she sometimes was with suckling calf tugging on a nipple
Along edges of despair worrying her calf cashed in only to suddenly see it come up over clover glen in abandoned spring’s jubilation
No need to worry, your baby’s come home
Turn around
Silly cow
Bittersweet Breakfast
exposed no more…
There is that,
what once were lingering moments
between crickets and sunrise sky dappled with soft grey light widening
As a redtail hawk mama calls in her talons
full with her young’s plump breakfast still warm
just shaken loose deep from ground up
startled at this awakening rudely
Soon, as digesting enough for more hunger
evening fades where stars find refuge
deep beyond cloak of day exposed
no more
into hiding then starting over again
Somewhere
The greater the storm the brighter the rainbow
Rapunzel Out of the Woods
Once upon a time not so very long ago
up above a ragged rugged river hanging on
until the next rains come
in a tower of wood and nails surrounded
by trees taller than mountains older than god
lives a maiden curled up in feathers as
pipe dreams taunt her ultimate freedom
from the shackles of her own mind
attempts to drown out sounds of hounds
just beyond threshold with music builds slow yet steady find
fading into a brighter shade of pale color coming back
unleashing ferocious gentility within confines of this room
recalling the deal with the devil foolishly made
bought and sold whisked away by an old crone
offering up to the highest bidder with strongest voice
for her own, lost for the under spell, lost in a disenchanted forest
meekly awakening she whispers to the trees as they lean deep within
the hilltop earth speckled with carrions pecking for order and buggy bit morsels
her head spins like acorns that toss themselves diving to the forest floor
tumbling fumbling rumbling like her thoughts as she begins to break the spell
Focusing on the stained glass she begins to see the light
She once felt captured in that tower high
Charming as it sounds, she knows better now
She will save herself, letting down her long hair, realizing thus…………
Happily-ever-afters cannot be found outside constraints of the towers in which we dwell nor from those outside of us who wish to save us; but from deeply within, regardless of surroundings or circumstances
This is the Happily Ever After
Hello My Name Is
Mostly a name feels familiar like an overhang protecting from thunderstorms and like lightening mine shines brightly blinding visibility of who I really am into partly silent repeated again and again ad nauseum
A name by any other rose is thorny when mispronounced turning simple conversations into complex woven stories of origin lending to over and over pronunciations misunderstandings frustration and giving in to nicknames and talking about the exterior gloss rather than the patina of my soul
Fish in Love out of Water
The Sidewalk Never Complains
Love is the theme here
The way of the lowly sidewalk surviving all of it’s wear and tear is remarkable, really
Never lonely rarely cracking under pressure strong and rock steady yet a wee bit worse for wear beneath feet upon feet pounding and renegade skateboard rats it holds its ground
Businesses bustle like peanut galleries justifying its existence as al fresco diners order another round
Street musicians busk under a slightly tattered canopy sheltered from the hot noon day’s sun as coins jingle and dance freshly flung filling a felted fedora with a brown sweat stained headband and a rather lazy looking pheasant feather
Nearby puddled sticky a scoop of ice cream once held with glee and might in a child’s delighted hand falls with ceremonious plop prompting her to wail with grief as it is now left for sugar drunk bees and an army of opportunistic ants waiting nearby among the minute cracks
up ahead young mother fumbling with a stroller juggles a baby on her hip dropping her keys with a silvery thwack onto a mass of discarded pink bubblegum peppered with dirt while her other toddling child at her knee wobbles over to the sparkling crystal fob promptly reaches for them joyfully sticking the sparkle into his mouth excited at his conquest
A young couple in throes of honeymoon kisses coo as their love grows hotter than the August asphalt oblivious to the proximity and admiration of a silver haired elderly pair coupled for as many years as the young lovers have been alive who smile and recall those days holding their hands even tighter
Love is the theme here
Yes, remarkably, the sidewalk sees it all
Riding the Surf
your eyes of jade
with speckled copper
look beyond
what can been seen
with naked eye
your glances see past
my shell
of a scarred wounded body
adoring my naked soul
finding perfection
in my imperfections
with your gentle breaths
and gentler arms
around me
even in my weakest moments
you give me strength
coaxing flowing tides
of monumental frothy painful crests
into ebbing gently along
glorious in our love
under heat of sun
I can rise and ride the surf
to any occasion
beyond any horizon
The Pearl
Sometimes, when something is painful or irritating we want to fight it, run or shut down. However, with patience, work, the faith in self discovery and transcendence we can each turn our pain into something beautiful and precious. The world is your oyster. 💜🌍💜
Open a Window
With the taste of you still on my lips I heard the door close behind you.
So, I opened a window.
The Snow Leopard
Along ridges of
rugged silvery snowcaps
A rare and regal breed
does roam
through thicket thinned
perilous passages
Camouflaged by cool grey speckled stone
and frosted evergreens
Paws narrowly missing steel traps nestled beyond the fray
Set out to destroy her
Instinct takes hold to thrive beyond survival
Her steps first trepedatious
yet undaunted
She pines searching
for her pride
Gaining ground
Snowy pure and driven
Her howling rises
Emerging guttural
First barely audible
then grows to rumble
Rushing against time
Seeking more of her kind
Found now
far and few between
Breast plate puffed fur fluffed
with whiskers icy splayed
Gaining footing on once slippery slope
She howls
primal pushing fear out
Revelling
in new found voice
She thunders on along
misted mountain
heralding her own echo
Find Your Wings
When your heart is heavy and your current state seems insurmountable, think of the butterfly and her metamorphosis.
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