Make a wish

Poem #27 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Make a wish 27.jpg
Make a wish

A luscious wish
An audacious,
maybe expensive,
maybe selfish wish.

Wish to
travel to the garden island, Kaua’i
to hike the rain forest
and touch a rainforest rainbow.
Breathe the moist, green air
All is green
All is foliage
Feels like whence life sprung
Sea to forest.

Wish to
build an herb garden get-a-way
with an ornate gate and
tall pineapple sage
bending over thyme.
Take your time.
Breathe in the tinctured air
Wafts of tangy rosemary
next to buttery roses.
Grandma’s bench rests here
for a morning moment
A warm cup of fresh picked chamomile tea.

Wish to
take a week,
a whole luxurious week off
to write
to lounge
to lengthen out Yoga asanas
and breathe deep that pranayama,
source of life,
as if you have all day
because you do have all day.

Make a wish
any wish.
Set the intention
and the how will follow.

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Poem #26 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Possibility 26.jpg

Be Possibility
Eat juicy star fruit
embracing the five pointed star
that values wisdom and truth

Through growth and learning
seek your higher self
until ready to merge
with the universal mind,

the pentagram
as pictogram
and ideogram
and Yoga pose
shows up on flags,
family crests,
and pink stars on Hollywood Blvd.

representing heaven,
Eastern star
and Western star,
Might and collectivism,
that collective soul

As Prince said
“Starfish and coffee”
“If you set your mind free”
Star of possibility

A point for each
Universal mind,
Universal soul,
Power of the word,
Past and future from whence potential
and the point of all points
be present in divine presence

All this in a star
All this is possible

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Poem #25 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Sexy 25.jpg
Define sexy

Openly vulnerable
Beautiful eyes
Eyes with depth
Warm purr
Fierce love

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Poem #24 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Forever 24.jpg

Like the buffalo said
this is forever
A partnership
A melding
Two different metals
into one alloy
creating a new metal
strong and light
and that does not corrode

whether legal vows
or unwritten commitment
when two hearts merge
we reach our true nature
a contentment
a place where all the empty spots are filled
where the old wounds heal
and a fresh together-life,
a forever-life begins.
A forever life that even death
cannot part
for the parts have fused
Who was before is no longer
The we-as-one continues
bridging time and space
and carried on in the energy, hearts and DNA
of our progeny.

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Poem #23 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Artistic 23

The eye falls upon
sweeping lines
like a horizon of rolling hills

Finger tips run along wood
sanded buttery smooth

The brain looks for rhythm,
pattern, meaning,
needs a name.
We want a name and an interpretation.
Hard wired to make sense of the world,
attracted to beauty,
color, sculptured form

Driven to feast our senses
on creative products
in all media
paint, charcoal, metal, paper,
wood, clay, fiber, words,
and assemblage
ordering and arranging disparate items
into a cohesive work of art

Art is what makes us unique among animals.
It can be our higher self
or drag us back to tribal urges.
Expression of divine
or expression of madness.
The true self spilling out
onto canvas
like a road sign,
a cairn
for others to heed or follow
to inspire
to evoke
to bring us together
or to separate us.

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Buffalo dream

Poem #22 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Buffalo dream

A buffalo showed up in a dream last night.
Purple buffalo stamps came up in the writing cue today.
“Pay attention to your path”
is the official dream meaning of a buffalo.
Purple means becoming aware
of an undiscovered dimension of the self.
The sunrise behind the purple buffalo
means abundance and prosperity.
And, there are two buffalo stamps.
Two is balance, partnership and receptivity.
It’s gonna be a great year!

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Poem #21 – Stamp collection – National/Global Poetry Writing Month 2017

Classic 21.jpg

She was a classic.
Button up suit coat,
skirt length beneath the knee,
hair coifed in a French twist
the color of a fresh croissant.

She sat straight as a stick pin
with her shoulders pulled back
and her chin tilted up and
cocked slightly to the side
as if she were listening to a bird in a tree.

Her eyes had depth,
a depth of good breeding and good schools
yet sparkled friendly in the sunlight.

She looked and smelled like a tea rose,
pale, almost transparent skin,
firm, not saggy or wrinkled
but starched looking like a well pressed shirt
with flattened seems.

She came into the tea shop every Tuesday
not long after the start of my shift.
She always ordered a plain scone
with marmalade
and chamomile tea.
Although she finished her scone,
I never saw her chew
only sip her tea
pausing before
touching the cup to her lips
to listen to that distant bird.

Then she missed a Tuesday
and another Tuesday.
and another Tuesday.
I had missed my chance to know her,
to know  where she grew up,
what was her profession,
and what kind of car she had.
I missed the chance to know
what she pondered over her tea,
if she had children,
and to simply know her name.
I missed the chance to know a classic lady.

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