Something about the half-lit space
invites silence. Sacred and calm.
Sunlight, muted through treated windows,
still manages to splash into the scene —
its sepia-colored tint adding depth
to a landscape filled with shadows.
The silence, at home, speaks
to the darkened corners as
the expanding light blankets
everything with its warmth.
A peek above the clouds
reveals a glimpse of heaven.
The blue is bluer.
The white — purer.
How could it be otherwise?
I stand
feet firmly on the ground.
Daring to look up.
Daring to fly.
.
I do not love you more today
than the other 364 days in the year,
but I do not love you any less, either,
and would not miss the chance to tell you,
with hearts and flowers and silly cards
in a playful way, that I do, in fact,
love you more than x’s and o’s
and chocolate hearts and red roses,
or in our case,
yellow ones from deep in the heart of Texas.
I would not miss the chance to laugh at candy messages.
Your love is not rationed,
and who rations love, anyway?
It just grows and grows,
not in a neat way,
like you’d see in hallmark cards,
but in messy diapers, and overtime,
in disappointments and failures,
in missed opportunities and risks not taken,
And blossoms in warm snuggles and happy reunions,
in proud moments and accomplishments,
in moments seized and showers of blessings.
It’s not a day, but a lifetime.
Dawn’s first light shivers
through half-opened blinds,
creating new patterns
on our old blanket.
The rise and fall of your chest
tethers me to the moment
tighter than the memory
of your warm embrace.
I get up anyway
and make the coffee.
An aubade is a morning love song when lovers part…this isn’t strictly an aubade, but it’ll do. I wanted to capture the ordinariness of a longtime marriage in the old blanket, the warmth of physical intimacy, the sacrifice of loving service. I’ll try a few more in the coming weeks.
Heaven smells like
brown sugar and cinnamon,
Don’t you think?
And if it doesn’t,
what then?
It must smell like
fresh rain, then.
Or my grandmas’s kitchen
on a Saturday afternoon.
It could smell like a baby
after a warm bath,
part soap,
part lotion,
part angel.
Or firewood
on a cold night.
Salty air
at the beach.
A field of wildflowers
on a breezy day.
Heaven, I think,
will smell like home.
I put my pen down
and took a walk
looked up
played with birds
who played with me
watched leaves fall
spoke to a squirrel
jumped in some leaves
followed the birds
from tree to tree
they led me where
I need to go
I ate pistachios
made some soup
tormented the dog
took a nap
in a hammock
smelled the flowers
played a song or two
sat on a swing
and picked up my pen
I am warm and giving.
I wonder what the world will be like for my children.
I hear the waves on the beach.
I see the orange sunset.
I want peace of mind.
I am warm and giving.
I pretend to be a space traveler.
I feel disappointed in broken drems.
I touch the future every day.
I worry about my children.
I cry when I am invisible.
I am warm and giving.
I understand my mother’s love.
I say it’s the thought that counts.
I dream of unwritten books.
I try to do my best.
I hope for a better tomorrow.
I am warm and giving.
June 1996
rhythmic breathing
a heartbeat
raindrops
fan humming
footsteps padding softly across the house
spoons clinking in coffee cups
the swish and scratch of pen and fist across the page
laughter
Ya wanna like MY poetry?
I’m giving it away. I put together a little electronic chapbook with a selection of my poems.
You’re going to need a couple of things in order to get it because it’s published as an ePub file to be read on Kindles or Nooks.
So, all you Mac peeps out there, you can read it on your iPod, iPad, or iPhone, but you need to download an app first.
1. Get the app. I use a free app called NeoSoar Books.
2. Go to my online store at Lulu.com by clicking on the book cover below:
3. Download it; it’s free!
4. Come back here and tell me what you think 🙂
A found poem is nothing more than existing text found in random places, strung together as if they belonged in one poem. Found poems can be hilarious, serious, weird, or like this one, pretty enigmatic.
another cup of coffee 