that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i watched a seagull fly over a field of snow
and the word metaphor flashed through my mind
though i refused to take it any further
because all i really wanted to do was watch it fly.

by mid-afternoon the sun had melted all the snow
into a watershed running through my fingers
down over my toes and i thought that perhaps
i had imagined that shadow of white on white,

sun glinting off wings built for shores less frozen
but then (of course) i found a feather in my hair
that i am certain was as black as any raven’s
and the wind tore it from my grasp precisely

at that perfect, beautiful moment when
i recognized the color of hunger.

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!

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don’t stop the rest

from growing.

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Yesterday was a miasma of grey, and this morning I woke up to a sugar-coated winter wonderland, filled with the fresh scent that only comes with a newly-fallen snow.

I watch the sun rise from behind a crosshatch of bare branches, and a bluebird lands on a snow-capped birdhouse.

Just as quickly, he is gone.

By this afternoon, the glittery blanket will have melted back into earth. Just beneath the surface everything is shifting, changing, washing itself clean.

Everything in this life is fleeting, happiness and sadness, light and dark, sunshine and lilies. It all cycles through in its own good time, despite our best attempts to crack the code that will slow things down, or speed them up.

A lily will open when it is ready to fill the air with perfume. The sun will shine when it has finished talking to the clouds, your heart will find something to smile about when the weeping has run its course.

These are the truths that I have learned.

This morning I stand here breathing in the scent of snow and lily, trying to hold onto them even as I know that I must exhale.

But for a moment, my lungs are filled with light and love and aliveness.

And, of course, that is enough.

by dawn the stars have been forced behind the curtain
all sparkling chitter chatter must be silenced
as the boss man takes his place in the sky
defeating darkness inch by inch and
rapping at windows to prove his prowess

i shield my eyes and make wishes on pennies

rise to stand here sipping tea and folding laundry
feeling small and perfectly ordinary creating
order from chaos one shirt at a time living
always in the circle of my mind that glows in
patterns as rich as sunshine and at night

i simply try to remember the light

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

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black and white,

but not quite.

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when we first met
i used to lay my head on your chest
and listen to your heartbeat.

after all these years
i can hear it
even when you’re
not in the room.

the rhythm of my steps
the patterns of my days
the music of my life.

the shape of
you.

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Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. M

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it’s cold out here.

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Last year’s growth still clings to its supports, having yet to be cleared away for the fresh new shoots this year has promised to bring.

Soon it will be time to start seeds indoors, the waiting and the watching and then the nursing of baby plants along towards Spring.

This isn’t my garden, it’s a garden I pass on the trail where I run, a huge vegetable garden that someone tends very lovingly. It’s a garden I covet. Or quite possibly, what I actually covet is the time it takes to tend such a garden.

When I am old I shall grow flowers.

Okay, I already grow flowers. And I’m creeping up on old, but you know what I mean.

Some days, weeks, months, years, it feels like I’m running out of time. Time to do the things I always wanted to do, said I would do, planned to do. So what to do?

I feel my priorities shifting. I suppose everyone does as they creep towards another milestone birthday, marking the passing of another decade.

I’m going to be 50 this year, and it feels a bit like a rite of passage. It will be time to draw the slanted line through the other four hash marks, and these five decades will stand together as a unit. The next decade starts a whole new set of hash marks, and only if I’m very lucky will I complete the set.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with it, no regrets and all that, and every day I breathe in the air of gratitude that I am here to even contemplate such things.

But I feel like this year, this well-rounded marker, means it’s time to clear away those old, clingy vines, time to pull up all the weeds, time to focus on standing with my face to the sun.

Mature growth. The bits of bark that have been weathered by time. The base of the tree that supports all the fresh, green leaves.

Old growth.

Yes, that’s it. Exactly.

Already, I feel new roots taking hold.

in my sleep i can skate to the other side
…………artfully missing all the weak spots
…………gliding smoothly in arcs and swashes

…………………but in the light of day i lie on my belly
…………………………….scoot my way across the thinnest places
………………………the ones where i can see bottom and

…………words wave up at me, asking to be rescued
…………or at least remembered (even willing to be
………………………….used) but this ice
…………………………………refuses to shatter

…………………or split
……………………..or splinter and

…………………i have no opening
…………all i can do is watch as phrase and dangling
…………………….participle sink down into mud

…………to be eaten later by hungry catfish, or
………………………occasionally
………………..disintegrating before my eyes
………………………………letters break off
…………………………………………..and slowly
…………………………………..begin

……………….their ascent to the surface
……………………..spelling words i hadn’t thought of
…………………………………that stick
……………..………………to the underside
…………………………………….of this cold glass sheet

………………………………………………….teasing me
………………….………….……………taunting me

………………………………..i can see them,
……………………………hear them,
…………………………………spell them out on
…………………………………….my tongue
……………                   ……………but they remain
……………………………………………………..out of reach

………………………begging
……………………………for warmth as i

…………………………………….press my cheek to the ice

………………………………………………………shivering

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this post is part of dVerse poets Open Link Night join us!

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in living color.

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