Poetry 5-20-2021

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Lost Things

Of all the things

I miss the most

it must be the weightless

loss of care.

The summer’s days,

kicked out of walls

adventures lived

and dreams built

out of coffee cans

and warped two by fours.

Of all the things

I miss the most,

it’s the softness

of a first kiss

the anticipation and yearning

before politics

or power plays

muddled the field

and made every touch of passion

a pawn on a game board.

something to be won

something to be earned.

something lost.

Of all the things

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I miss the most,

It must have been their tiny hands

wrapped around my finger

and the sleepy warmth

of their heads tucked

into my shoulder

we were safe there,

just the three of us.

Before the world came down on them

with screens and images

of unreachable ideals

skipping meals and

pinching skin.

Of all the things

I miss the most

It was feeling

like the world was someplace

magical and filled

with potential for

the good

the better

the brighter future ahead.

Before the dark gray blanket

covered my eyes

and suffocated all

dawning hope

VerseDay 1-24-19

Before you immerse yourself in this succulent little slice of verbiage, take a moment to remember that I’m still calling for submissions to the poetry anthology and look forward to featuring your work here on my website. IT’S FREE PEOPLE…and you get all the feel-good bragging rights of being ‘published’. So consider and send me your stuff.

 

Okay, proceed to the Verse…

 

 

Puzzle

If I could stand in those empty fields once more.

The sun and wind bearing down,

Driving back the faint of heart.

If I could catch the notes of sage on the back of my tongue,

And the distant blue horizon

Far and stretching for eons

The time of endless days, turned eye-blinks.

If I could walk those creaky halls, and the comfort of shadow

The patterns of wood and love

If I could smell the dust of my bedroom, hear the closet door creak,

Lean against kitchen countertops, where the coffee pot left

Traces of brown on the laminate.

If I could just go back.

To that time

To that girl.

Maybe I could find the pattern of me,

The places before broken lines were drawn.

And piece the puzzle back together.

Maybe in this place, the dirt that grew beneath my fingernails,

The dust that scattered through my hair

The sweet sunshine that painted my cheeks in freckles

And the smell of an innocent child who belonged to the wild.

If I could just run those tracks, single and winding through empty fields,

On the squeaky tires, of the most faithful steed,

Who’s cracked seat pinched tender thighs, if ever the thought to sit occurred.

If I could spend the day on an adventure,

I could find the greatest one yet.

The one that tells the story,

Of a girl who was fearless

A girl who loved the wind and the sun

And the freedom beneath her was a fair gale to wings

Of a girl who wouldn’t give up.

Not ever.

Of a girl who persisted and

Stayed wild.

Maybe I could find the pattern of me,

Before the broken lines were drawn,

And piece the puzzle of myself together again.