In The Whirl of Seasons (2)

Love may not begin with self-love, But it rarely makes it past its absence. Exercise and forest air, Water, sweat, and absent noise -- She finds that working at loving herself Tends to achieve its objectives, at best, Imperceptibly. But she trusts the process, as they say. To cultivate her mind, she is learning, Exploring, … Continue reading "In The Whirl of Seasons (2)"

In the Whirl of Seasons (1)

It's neither grief, nor flaws: Some sadness has no cause, But merely is, like gravity, Or nature's other laws. She's chilly to the bone, And one thing is her own: And that's that she is here, and now, And totally Alone

Breakfast Buffet, Pre-Open

Early Wednesday, people stirring, Place not open, motors whirring, Lobbies full of walkers bleary, Heavy baggage, workers weary, Lonely trav'ler, sittting, waiting Scanning phone and incubating Thoughts of nothing, applications Made for daily mass sedations Breakfast soon and what's-called coffee, Toxins for the ever-groggy, Working, fretting, selling, buying -- Life goes on amid The dying
blown leaves and shadows kissing the daylight moving where the heart finds rest we often find evidence of what tired it formerly

an autumn walk

pleased and soft shadows of years lost fall colors a strange majesty in silence and the small wet leaves

out of the conclave

set free upon this cliff and time a frozen moment in the wind a vapor that returns to cloud a thousand million heartbeats spent set free to wander as was meant away from worry joy or pain a meditation and a tale a whisper worth the hearing yet

Lost Stories (3)

I am the product of regret; I am the legacy of guilt, I am the shadows and the mud, I am the way my life was built I am the sum of all my fears, I am the paths I chose, and choose -- The worn precarious holder of A lot to lose

Lost Stories (2)

At eight years old, a dynamo: A Supergirl, a CEO, A scientist, a diplomat, An artist and an acrobat -- At eighteen, still, a power plant: A lioness, a Federal grant, A lover and a covert spy, A reason and an alibi -- At twenty-eight, a marvel yet, An adjective, an epithet, A story told … Continue reading "Lost Stories (2)"

Lost Stories (1)

The house was made of wood and mold, The floor of dust and timber, She lived in it as she grew old, But she stayed limber By bending back into the years Of power and of glory; Between what’s felt and what appears Lives every story — Within the heart that reaches out, Within the … Continue reading "Lost Stories (1)"