The magic we own..
We all are different
Still united
We do the same
Still divided
The affection we feel
Times we deal
The distance is far
Still we are connected
World is round
Magic is known
This land made by us
Is what we own..
To My 20-Year-Old Self
Don’t worry so much.
You’re smart and you’re beautiful.
You are.
Don’t work so much.
You’ll have enough to live.
You will.
Don’t eat so much.
It won’t fill that emptiness you feel.
It won’t.
Trust your instincts.
That quiet, still voice inside you will guide you.
It will.
Listen to your elders and those who love you,
Even if it seems like they don’t understand or care.
They do.
Read and pray more.
Ideas and faith will fill your soul with everything you need.
They will.
Love with abandon.
It’s all that really matters.
It is.
He was Anybody
I once knew a man named “Anybody”
He was always hanging around.
Homeless, and weak with exhaustion,
“Anybody” barely made a sound.
His shoes were filled with holes,
Laces shredded by age.
Feet blistered from “Anybody’s” travels,
“Anybody” hadn’t slept in days.
Putrid aroma,
lingered when “Anybody” walked by.
Out of all fault found,
“Anybody” was still kind.
“Anybody” had a secret.
A secret he shared with few.
While judging the misfortunes of others,
Do not forget “Anybody” is YOU!
Poem Five
You said you would come
You didn’t come
You said you were sorry
You do it again though
You said you would remember
You don’t like always
You said don’t leave
You were the one that walked away
From Here To There
We honor portals.
Dress them with beads,
Hang them with wreaths,
Set mezuzahs in the doorposts,
Recognizing that we move between the worlds
And our transitions
Beg for blessings.
Meeting Miss Mollie…2pm
Okay, she definitely didn’t look like the usual sixty year old.
Who was I kidding?
She didn’t look like the usual anything.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
(neither would she let me).
She was the quintessential breath of fresh air on a stale, hot day.
That forced you to wonder what was it that you were missing all these years.
(and what could you do to get whatever it was back).
Letter to Emily Bronte
Dear Miss Emily Bronte of the sisters five
How did you create love as a muddled hive?
How dare Catherine defy the love she never hated?
Why did you not simplify love as it was created?
I had often thought to ask of Heathcliff of Wuthering Heights
To know where he ventured in your sights
Miss Bronte, if I may, my curiosity is not restrained
How indeed did you know love so untrained?
It is with love, horror, smiles and grief and memories much
I read your thoughts, those words were such
Engulfed in a mystifying mystery so beautiful
Lord knows what other thoughts lived there and how bountiful
Forgive me, for I meant to take not much of your time ‘
But I have learned this much, at day and night
You are also part of the cult, the kind that creates fantasy
Writers! Your magic remains a mystery
A Poem to Emily- Poem #5 for Half Marathon
A Poem to Emily- Poem #5 for Poetry Half Marathon by Ingrid
Your words come to me in the Night
Release, Religion and Birds in flight.
Creeping into my sleeping hours
Dripping metaphors with great powers.
Stanzas choked with memories of
Pain, Freedom and letting go
Something we must all come to know.
#6, Novalee
In my mind she lives alone.
She has never existed in this world.
She is made imagination and hope.
Blue eyes. Raven curls. Freckles across her cheeks. Dimples and laughter.
She is ours.
The perfect combination of both of us.
Every good and beautiful future.
She is named.
Sixth Post: Portal
Portal
An archway, a portal,
Hidden doorway in a secret garden.
Touching my hand to the trees lining the path,
I step across its boundaries.
I enter another world,
Of stone and ice and wind,
Just five steps further,
And I lose sight of the way back home.
There is no turning back,
And so I venture forward,
This hidden land a vast expanse,
Which leads to who knows where.
Head down and eyes half-shut,
I place one foot
In front of the other,
Trudging on, so slowly.
Sometime later, I remember
A shape in some trees,
Sunlight through branches,
An opening of some kind?
And then it flees my memory,
And there is only ice and snow,
Where the wind battles on,
And so must I.