Nice Days?
Rain pours energy
Sucked into soil
New life created
Yawns, sleep, repeat
Now the heat
Now the cold
Pour energy please we want it
Hour 9 ( Future Reflections)
Just a glimmer
The light is yet to born
Preparing for tomorrow
When yesterday is gone
When will the light be present
When truths will be revealed
Will there be gladness
When those needs are healed
Many are the questions
Future promises bring
When sunlight shines through darkness
Birds begin to sing
This Future reflection
Beaming wonder, poise and grace
As you smell the beauty
Shone a bright smile on your face
Copyright(c)2022 Roxannn Lawrence
the life i want
i’d love to live in a cabin a little way aways
from other people, but not too far
i want to wear a unbearably soft robe, warmed
to my toes. i want to drink coffee tea hot chocolate
in a cutesy mug from a loved one. as i sit at my window
desk and write. looking outside, watching my cats
play in the snow but never straying far
because i love them, and they love it here with me
Hour 9, prompt 9_ Nostalgia
Mounted on the wings of nostalgia
Carried to the Udara tree where we used to sit
And sing at the top of our voices.
Begging the juicy yellow fruits to fall on their own.
That was the only way we could claim them as our’s.
Happy times they were.
Innocent and devoid of guiles, we were.
And you know, sometimes we do sing the fruits down.
Sweet tangy rewards, a worthy bounty claimed,
For innocent little voices raised in Song.
bringing a tongue to a knife fight (prompt 7)
arguing isn’t communication
it’s just noise
hardly intimidating or impressive
a waste of energy time and voice
you’re trying to be right
so I know
that you’re not interested in listening
don’t care to learn or grow
throw your fists and stomp feet wildly
so I can respond the way I would a child
see, I can tell by your reaction
that I triggered such passion
with words that hit
just a little bit
close to home
HOUR NINE ~ Before The Pines Were Gone
BEFORE THE PINES WERE GONE
lost under the heavy snow-covered branches
we saw the fort was mostly built already
a slanting roof and long walls
only a door was still needed
we built whatever was necessary with mittens on
we covered the open door in a picnic blanket
(each season calls forth a new meaning)
until it was twilight, we were frozen wild
then with red cheeks and noses
we toddled in out of the icy dark, shaking off snow
and always we were met by the same reliable mug
of warm, comforting hot cocoa
Maybe
Maybe love don’t care as much as I do,
Can two walk together unless they agree?
If I and love are meant to walk different path,
how long shall I stress myself to convince her to keep my company.
Sick days
In the cupboard waits
My favorite rescue remedies
That mom used to make
Packaged soup with extra noodles, yummy!
And carbonated lemon lime soda for the tummy
Grilled cheese on deck when nothing else would do
All spelled comfort for me
How about you?
Eggs Goldenrod–Hour 9
That’s what Mom called it
Toasted bread
with the white part of eggs
in creamy white sauce on top
sprinkled with crumbled
yellow
egg yolk
a light supper
on a winter evening
a comforting dish
that seems to exist only in the past
in a house on Benedict Avenue
in White Plains, New York