Writing poetry
is letting go —
once the words leave your pen
they’re out of your soul —
and the therapy has begun.
revised
entry has been revised since original publication
Anticipation
It’s peeking round the corner
Playing hide and seek
I see its icy fingers
A frost’d rosy cheek
Days fall ever shorter
Autumn’s air is chilling
Warmth no longer lingers
Wild things are stilling
Fresh air & birdsong
An open window is good company, like the burning candle of Lichtenberg.
“Man loves company even if it is only that of a small burning candle.”
Segue
Joyfully spring from the last breaths of summer and gracefully fall
Sessile
Life is a dance of balance.
Life is creative falling.
Life is half spent getting back up.
Life is learning to dance with a partner —
and learning to dance without a partner,
and letting go enough to dance in the crowd.
Life is a freestyle jig.
Life is a twirl and a bow.
Life is the best dance you’ve ever danced
and the only chance you’ll get, so dance!
Death is your dancing soul returning to the heavens.
Seeds of health
If you plant junk food in your body garden, how do you expect to harvest health?
Arise thankful
a new day doesn’t mean
forgetting yesterday
but simply letting it go
not to dwell in memories
but to cherish each one
as it pops up and surprises us
and then release it with a smile
the birds are singing of now
our hearts beat of the present
the past is a muted background
enhancing our carpe-diem lives
dawn paints the scene of today
and invites us to live beautifully
to be the artists of our own souls
Once upon a thyme
Desserts are the fairy tales of dining — a happily-ever-after to supper.
Hear & Now
Music echoes rhythms of the universe
Music is audible time
Music is past meets present
Our heartbeats are the drums of life
We dance to life, not music
Heart ink
Keep a diary even if you rip it up every night.
Cracked
her head was cracked —
not tragically, just poetically
it’s how the poems got in —
and out
Rejoice, lament, meander
black eyes and broken bones
rainbows and sugared donuts
overthinking and over-loving
have gotten me to this point
and still I’ve never yet made
a five-year freaking plan —
and even if I did — nothing
ever actually goes
according
to
plan
anyway
Enclosed
Our bodies are meant
for the sun, the rain
the gusty winds
starlight and moon baths
fresh air and seasons —
so why do we trap ourselves
in indoor cages?
If we can’t hear birds sing
or feel invigorating breezes —
how are we to be refreshed
to heal, to know the world
beyond the borders
of our bodies?