I didn’t see her fall the first time By the time I saw her lying there Two other passersby had Already stopped to give her aid I stopped my car with a jolt Pressed the four-way flashers And leapt into the street I could tell by the stress in the helpers’ voices The first fall had […]
Well, there he is again. Sure, I thought he was gone. I forgot that he is not here To haunt me; Only to bring the lesson Of my life back to my Heart Again and again. For the heart of the Boy on a bicycle Was surely broken. Yes, it’s been mended Again and again.
Brush sways heads of browned leaves; A stark contrast to the brilliant, glazed snow Shining in the glow of morning sunlight. From this angle, those twigs seem like Darkness or shadow. But shift to the other side and you’ll find It, like the snow, is fully Illuminated. ~ spontaneously composed by Stan Stewart on
Like drones rising up We are eager to catch first light. It’s Winter, so the catching Is not too difficult; Though it may be hard: Stiff and inflexible like The frozen melt on top Of old snow. We tramp through anyway. The reward will be sunrise. There is nothing else in All of the goodness
Here is “What If?” as recited by Erica Zohreh Habibi. Hearing this transformed the poem for me (and I composed it…) What if the world were flat. Would that change the color of your favorite tree? What if you only had one more day to live. Tell me what you’d want to do then. What
As part of #Quest2015, Pam Houston provided this prompt: “Sit quietly and ask yourself, what in the last day or week or month has made your heart leap up? Not what should, or might or always had, but what did. Make that list. Be honest, even if it surprises you. Keep the list with you
I wake in the middle of the night My heart is pounding fiercely And the sheets offer no comfort So I slip out of bed. As my feet touch the floor There’s a cold sensation; Knowing your warm, soft body Might as well be a million miles away. The door requires a nudge So I
My eyes open to See the sun near The horizon; its Jagged, golden Flickers seemed to Invite me to fly to Its center. I lay still in the grass With chirruping birds nearby and Buzzing bugs enticed by the soft Flesh of my naked neck and bare legs. Hovering between the lush Hug of the lawn
Don’t let any kind of dread Run a thread Through your head You can always turn To face something Beautiful To shift into Gratitude And that Is surely where it’s at Just put on a different hat And suddenly You’re aware Once again Of the masterpiece Full of wonderment And delight You are ~ spontaneously
Hibernation is not really for the sleep: The point is the coming back to life. Eyes blinking we become accustomed to the light As we emerge from our cave Of becoming. However dusty or muddy the Spring soil may be, We let it squish between our toes. It, too, is raw material, Just as those
