To My First Love

I still remember the way your warm brown eyes would look at me,

Like I was the world, and maybe I was just in that moment.

I especially remember your hands. Big and awkward and perfect when they were holding mine.

I want you to know that I’ve never loved anyone quite how I loved you.

You were born for greatness. I always believed it and I believe it still. Go forward with courage. Open your heart, and expand your mind.

Never forget that you once had the heart

Of the girl writing this poem.

Ode to Alison

You bring me sunshine on a cloudy day,

Your smile is like a shelter from the rain,

When we laugh together then my soul sings,

And when we are quiet I am at peace

Your friendship is one of my favorite gifts

That God has chosen to bestow on me,

Our memories will stay and never die,

To bring us joy when we need it the most,

You’ve always been there and you always will,

Forever in my heart my dear, you’ll be.

Mountain Climber



The mountain is steep

I inhale fresh air and smile

I love the journey

(I’m behind. eek!)

A Smile


Turn up your mouth

Push the ends to the sky

Share the joy of your soul with me

Please smile

The Boy I Loved For A Day

Curly hair and an impish grin,

Merry green eyes and a confident chin,

When he winked at me I got butterflies,

He wasn’t afraid to look into my eyes,

He told me he’d buy me an ice cream cone,

And then he said he’d walk me home,

Will you meet me here tomorrow? He asked.

I told him I would and I thought this might last.

The next day I came to the very same spot,

Hoping he’d be in the place that he ought,

But I waited and waited for nearly an hour,

My beautiful dreams had begun to turn sour,

I started to look for him everywhere

Then slowly realized he wouldn’t be there,

My anger built up til I thought I would burst,

He must have found some other girl first.

A woman walked by with a tear on her cheek,

I asked if I could help, but she couldn’t speak,

Finally she looked at me and wearily spoke,

“My son is has been killed and I haven’t much hope,”

Her son was the boy with the curly hair,

The green eyes and wink that was too much to bear,

He’d been hit by a car on his way home that night,

And there was nothing to do, no way to fight,

Since that day I’ve been thinking how tragic is life,

Where a soul can so quickly leave this place of strife,

I never really knew him, at least not for long,

But I feel that a part of me is suddenly gone.

His mother and I remain friends to the end

The last twenty years we have started to mend.

I’ve gained a sweet love, but I’ll never forget,

How that dear boy’s eyes looked on the day we first met.


The Ocean

The ocean has a part of me it’s true,

A piece of pure wild dancing gracelessly,

Within my soul it comes and goes sometimes,

And when it goes I know where it has gone,

Back to the sea, the place where it belongs.


The ocean has a piece of me indeed,

It’s gentle waves stir gentleness in me,

It breathes contentment, calm and peace of mind,

And tells me that my answers are inside.

I look within and then I sweetly know

I’ve found my missing piece beside the shore.


The ocean is a trusted friend of mine,

For though she may seem inconstant to some,

The balance she strikes between calm and wild,

Is a wonderful thing to emulate

To My Sister

To My Sister.


12 years old, and your long, thin legs kick up in the air,

Cartwheeling over the grass,

The long lines of your body seem to be continually reaching towards the sky.

Oh, how I hope you will always be reaching up…

The world will try to say you aren’t beautiful…but what do they know?

Your beauty goes deeper than an ocean, more enchanting than the pearl found at the bottom.

Your eyes are as blue as pieces of the sky you are reaching for and your hands are creators, creators of all sorts of wonderful things.

Never forget that you hold the key to joy inside of you. Never forget that you can create reality from the gossamer web of  your dreams.

Fly, darling girl, fly away and show the world the beauty that you are.


An Invitation

a lovely house,
with walls built of paper,
furnished with ink to tell a tale,
a book.

The Nectarine Tree

A pink crescent moon in an indigo sky,

was my ceiling that night, though I didn’t ask why,

Simply breathed it all in, feeling strangely content,

as I plucked fruit from a tree that was broken and bent.

We worked in the dark, til a floodlight turned on,

illuminating the scene, spilling light on the lawn,

In that strange brilliant glow I grabbed fistfuls of fruit,

trying hard to relieve the poor tree of it’s loot,

Tired and worn, her branches drooped to the ground,

unable to carry even one more pound,

In her shame there was beauty, with her graceful green leaves,

Gently framing her branches, like a gown with fine sleeves,

The nectarines she grew were hard and small,

but their deep royal colour was not ugly at all.

The scene had great beauty, a part of me knew,

It felt like a secret, no one else had a clue.

But pink crescent moons in an indigo sky, don’t happen too often, and I will not ask why,

I’ll simply take what I’m given, but won’t ask for more,

else I become like the fruit tree, hurt by the beauty she bore.