Listening

Familiar voices lilt in the background weaving through  the gentle picking of sweet guitar
the harmonies simple,
the message tender
I don’t need to hear the words to get the message
we are all in this together
Family knows no bounds
Life is eternal and all that we give now can somehow matter
Love now
Live on…

Another one bites the dust

been to this juncture three times before.

Never with the boost of so many prompts

my friends think I’m crazy but I love to write

poetry is never as good as when completely spontaneous.

But I love this time every year.

Bleary eyed and wiped I roll over one more time on the alarm clock

this time, knowing it’s the last one this 24 hours, I struggle to find any inspiration

missed a couple in the middle of the night hours

had to catch up

falling asleep as I typed

words come words go but hearts stay open

Caitlin and Jacob hold us in a perfect container

And another one down and another one down

we did it

Kids those days

It wasn’t easy but we made it through together

food was scarce

new clothes a luxury

held by the arms of many mothers we knew love

and they knew all of our bedtimes

 

In the city

nature here is nothing like the mountains fresh with dew in the morning

air conditioners drop fluid in strange places

bags of garbage rustle with the contents of rodentia feasts

And the jungle of concrete holds secrets they never tell you

Luna

she was tiny when she came to Live with us

perfectly dressed in her little black coat

she never really acted her age

instead of playing and frolicking as one did then

she mostly kept to herself but for when accompanying our son on adventures

Her own adventures proved not all Kitties are wanton killers…

 

Feats

In the wee hours of the night the standstill can be deafening

The others on the way have the same

work to keep up with

knowing they are there, makes the final hour worth heading toward.

Lonely in the quiet of the creative night  there is no alone and the sun doesn’t set on creativity.

Let it flow forth in all of its bumbling beauty

 

The canyon

She opened the letter wondering  the occasion.

Her dear friend never wrote, much less made it to post—must be some occasion.

Before reading any words, the picture fell from the envelope. The Grand Canyon, Cynthia in the bottom left corner, gazing at that coveted view.

How dare she?

How dare she send such a photo having made the final decision not to go on their trip across the country?

Who took the picture and why did I get a copy?

Slowly slipping the photo back in the envelope, she tucked it away.

That was for another time.

And so was a visit to the canyon.

 

Dear…

dear she who is about to complete the Poetry Marathon,

Let your nimble fingers dance upon the keys, there are only a few more hours before the sun hits the horizon and nine am comes.

You’ve been through some trenches and come out the other side. This too shall pass.

If you let your eyes rest and they arrived somewhere inside of a Dream  don’t fret, your awakening will come when the clock stops counting and so do you.

You are about to have accomplished something only few attempt and even less understand.

Feel proud.

Love,

me

 

He too

It’s a Brave new world

for those

with the guts to navigate it

 

 

Missed it

We set out to cross the country in three days.

Three of us and

a new boyfriend in his car

a sack full of cassettes

And barely enough prerolled joints to make it all bearable

We made it all the way to the canyon just eighty miles out of the way

dates, and destinations aside, the Grand Canyon calls any plan to distraction

many plans

but not ours

The vote won to meet a date set in proverbial stone

i considered setting out alone

Never did

never made it

 

 

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