Category Archives: Poetry

Life Goes On

Reading through old poems and this one gript my heart anew.
It still amazes me that I hated my own writing for years and wouldn’t dare put pen to paper because of what leaked out. Now, I enjoy my own poems so much that sharing them is a pleasure. Though, this isn’t one of my best poems, still, the pleasure in sharing without fear of what others think is lovely. Time changes so much.

It’s Spring and life goes on.

Hooting owl seeking mate’s solace.
Cooing doves with heads touched.
Airplanes dipping low overhead.
Distant traffic sounds whoosh closer then pass.
Pool glimmering blue in morning sun.
Neighbor’s dog pacing at my door for attention.
Ceiling fan teases the air with cool breeze.
Hummingbirds dance around my head as I type.
Butterflies flutter dance on lantana and violas.

Moon watches pale in sky
while Sun burns higher and high.
Earth beams grounding tracks
while Sky descends to ground and back.

Heart’s muted cries see through teary waves
as Eyes leak in sorrow haze.
Breath moves in unseen breeze.
Womb pulses more joyously.

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Sacred Wind

Sacred wind swirls through me
purifying,
cleansing,
restoring,
and setting free.

Cosmic blessings and light,
enraptured grace sparkles
clearing darkness’ feigned plight
and feinted blows.

Universal crescendo of power
burns through darkness
leaving trails of light
in velvety cave resplendent, aglow.

Love manifests in this symphony.
Nurtured, protected, honored.
You are safe in my velvety cave.
Heart held, sheathed in tender power,
protected by the ferocity of love
in purest form from spirit space.

My Cat

My cat
does not cuddle
but she hovers near in
safe harbor whilst nuzzles of
trust are bestowed on my ankles and calves.
Together, we enjoy her lurking
ritual of freedom,
admiring
my cat.

——-

Note: Linda J. Wolff’s poem ‘Between Sunrises and Sunsets‘ using Rictameter verse inspired me to work with this form myself.
“…this form of poetry—Rictameter Verse, uses 9 lines in the poem, and strict syllable count: 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 8, 6, 4, 2 with the first line repeating itself in the last line.”

My first attempt is not nearly as elegant as Linda’s poetry, yet I love the fun of this form and shall be using it more.

Delicate Craving

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A delicate craving begins to smoulder.
The finest wisp of smoke arises.
I thought perhaps erotic passion had drowned in grief.
After all, how could I express sensual murmurs and orgasmic quests
while memorial services are wrapped around families’ ankles
and draped all over the internet?
Even so, this delicate craving has snuck past sorrow
and found life in your grace.