Hard Night's Wait

What will be will be.
What is, is. 12:21 A.M.
No phonecall, email,
No posts on Facebook.
No news of recovery
after surgery. No news.
No word, No tears. Nothing.
Silence feeds dark thoughts.
Silence makes for a
hard night's wait.

In My Office

Hot sun streams through stained glass branches,
cooled from bright white to soothing green.
I rest in leather chair, worn to my shape
by hours of stories heard, told, remembered .
Four generations of books build coocoon,
muffle sound, soothe, remind, inform.
Crystals, feathers, paintings done by friends,
journals, knitting needles, unworked yarn.
Peace, memory, possibility surround me.

To Starting Over

Urge to build is common enough.
Urge to destroy far too common.
Discipline to rebuild, rare, sacred.

Spiral Path

Come in, if you want to know me,
past sunworn outer layers,
past  roles, titles, clothes, voice.
Come in, if you want to know me
through stories and silences,
Learn what makes me tremble.
Come in, if you want to know me.
Listen to my nightmares. Trace
their shadows in the morning.
Come in, if you want to know me.
The door is open..The path is spiral.
Listen. Follow. You are welcome.
Come in if you want to know me.
.

I wish

I wish I had given her some money,
when she asked me on the path
last night, dark braid down her back,
voice resigned, skinny five year old
daughter clinging to her leg, eyes tired.
It could be me needing, my daughter.
I could have spared five dollars.
I spend that for fun, not thinking.
i wish I had given her some money.

I wish I had given her some money
there on the River Walk with drunk
singing blaring from the bars and
a man videotaping four beauties
line dancing on the sidewalk.
People laughed when the college
boy fell into the river on purpose,
came up laughing, playing the crowd..
i wish i had given her some money.

I wish I had given her some money
even though my husband and my friends
make sense when they instruct give to
charities, shelters, not panhandlers
who might be con artists or just
wanting a drink or a fix to get through
one more night on the steamy streets. 
I shouldn't enable their habits. It's sound
advice.  I still wish I had given her money.
   

Permanent

,
Lack cuts like dull rusty razor,
leaves ugly wound, jagged edges.
Abundance alone  heals nothing.
Forgiveness, trust, time work together
to heal poverty's injuries smooth,
Even then, faint silver scars remain.  

This was written for  Poets United Vice / Versa, a revived Poets United feature.  We are challenged to use two sets of antonyms in our writing.  The antonyms this time are jagged and smooth; lack and abundance. 

Losing Her (nightmare)

I hold her little hand
as we step off the curb.
She looks up at me, smiles.
Her curls catch sunlight,
And then she is gone.
Just gone. No curls.
No warm hand in mine.
I chase absence into
busy road.  She is not there.
She is nowhere.
I cannot find her.

That which is precious
I cannot keep safe,
cannot hold close.
Mystery snatches love.
I can't be good enough
to protect my children
I can't be good enough
to keep love safe.
Effort is not sufficient.
Dilligence may not hold.
Loss lurks in the sunlight.

Message to the World

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Everything that affects anyone affects anyone. Acting on self interest only is a time bomb that will get us all in the end. Considering the universal good is a survival strategy as well as being kind.

      This was my response to the prompt at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - to write a message to someone in particular or to the world in general and to actually make it move, to sendit out there.  I posted mine on Facebook, just the way it appears above and intend to leave it around today in every public place I visit, written on a piece of paper.  I strongly believe my message and like having this opportunity to share it.

Morning Celebration

Surfacing to sunlight,
first sensation your breath,
easy, peaceful, in, out.
Cheek to warm chest
Your steady heart
assures me we are
both here to start
another day together.. 

Storm

Thoughts and feelings collide
air masses in  summer storm.
Too much, too many, too hot
to handle, too cold to bear.
Got to grab this comet by
its tail to make poems again.