If you stay on one side
and I the other
how will I know the color of your eyes
what tune your voice plays when your words lilt into the air?
How will I know if humor is one of your senses
or if the shoes you wear have traveled far?
I want to know what made you grow
and what kept you stagnant
what made you smile
and what made you weep
If you stay on one side
and I the other
how would I ever be
enlightened?
image by Kerfe at https://methodtwomadness.wordpress.com/2018/06/29/waves/
Dive into my center
past the bog of obstacles,
the sharp edges,
the pointed arrows.
Peel this artichoke
layer by layer
leaf by leaf
through tiny thorns.
See past the choke
into the light
of my waiting heart.
To taste the smells of distant shores
contents of wares within wooden crates
heaved on sturdy shoulders
to reach my hand between the wooden slats
and feel the relics
like silk between my fingers
those tastes of memories.
To taste the smells of distant shores
teas and spices peddled by steadfast merchants
exotic oils purified and funneled into blue glass bottles
the dusty threads of ancient Persian carpets
woven by still, sure hands
the taste of skill and craftsmanship
of those who came before.
I want to taste the smells of distant shores
the ports of entries open
for senses to rouse
for eyes to open
in harbors safe
a saving grace
exposure to
the new.
Why?
Why did they leave?
Was time too short to leave footprints in the sand
or did they level the playing field to erase proof of their presence?
Did they call to me before bidding adieu
when my ears remained distant?
Discouraged I’m not.
Beneath the sea
A plethora of life.
And now September burns the careful tree
That builds each year the leaf and bark again
With solemn care and rounded certainty
That nothing lives which seasons do not mend.
…
The young are never robbed of innocence
But given gold of love and memory.
We live in wealth whose bounds exceed our sense,
And when we die are full of memory.
by Donald Hall
Mr. Hall died last Saturday, June 30th. He was 89.
My Frigidaire’s in disrepair
the water’s leaking everywhere
My husband, well, he’s unaware
He’s napping in his underwear.
I tell myself, “do not despair.”
There must be food I can prepare
something fresh, a peach or pear?
Poor Fridge, it’s had it’s wear and tear
this in common, this we share
But I will act most debonair
when I wake up my sleeping bear
still with stance that’s set to square
and tell him he must fetch our fare
(“yes, now go and do your share”)
then waving just one hand in flair
I’ll sit upon my outdoor chair,
paint my nails with greater care
then catch a snooze mid-air.
– C. Dennis-Willingham ©
painting by Kay Crain
(I love this piece of art)
via Frigid
I face less fears than I once did
those growing pains while still a kid
have turned into a pyramid
of learning tools and skills.
– C. Dennis-Willingham ©
daily word prompt: Faceless
I wait for you to come out of your shell
for you to incubate and percolate
into your perfect self
The world is not always a scary place
Concentrate
Communicate
Fear will dissipate
You can become the Goddess of Love
Just open your gate
Make this your world to punctuate
And we will celebrate your glory.
image credit
via Incubate
Befuddled, bewildered and baffled am I
to think that my house cannot live in the sky
I’d open my windows each morning at dawn
and wave to the birds as they proudly flap on
I’d puff up the clouds that create my front yard
and bend my own rainbow to hang as my guard
At night I would juggle and play with the stars
then tuck them in safely in soft layered jars
Now, as i look up, I don’t understand
why my house it must always be glued to the land.
image credit
via Bewildered
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 