Category Archives: poetry

I left a piece of me

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I wanted to leave piece of me behind,

something so unique to me,

that you would remember me

once I had gone.

I don’t want you to doubt

whether I was ever here

in the first place.

I want my imprint

etched into your brain,

so you know that I once was,

and always will be,

a part of your existence.

jeep

I left the ghost of me to remain

long after I had gone,

marking the place

that I once held in this world.

I may appear in several ways,

in the most unusual places,

but always know

that I have left a piece of me behind

for you to notice

just when you miss me the most.

~~

I saw this photo on Twitter (@ChicagoProblems) and immediately thought of how loved ones try to send us messages after they have passed.  They never drove a jeep but my mom and dad do send us indications that they are still with us in spirit.  And Mom and Dad, if you reading this, White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit.

I just wanna know

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hands

If my hand brushed up against yours,

would your fingers curl around mine,

would you reach for my touch

as easily as I long for yours,

and let your thumb

gently caress my skin?

If I kissed you,

would our lips slightly touch

before you turned away,

or would your face lean into mine,

absorbing every ounce of the passion

I want to share with that kiss?

If I said I love you,

would you immediately build a wall

to keep me at a distance,

or would you pull me close

happy to share my emotion

because you feel it too?

If I fell into you,

would your arms catch me,

would my body be met by the warmth of your flesh,

or would I awake, once again, from my dream

wondering if you really exist.

I just wanna know.

 (image credit)

Excuse me while I expose myself

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The title of this post conjures up several images.  Some of those images are quite flattering and sexy and others are the images that I wish I could wipe from my memory.   Spoiler alert – this post has nothing to do with anything remotely related to nudity, apart from the flagrant display of flashing in the image below. (sorry)

flasher

(image credit)

When we are authentically naked, when we truly bare ourselves, we are baring our souls, not our bodies.   We let others into our hearts, our minds and our dreams.  All of the hypocrisy is stripped away and we are left naked with no false fronts to hide behind.   We bare ourselves here on our blog sites, with our words, and we run naked through the blogosphere.  We put more honesty and integrity into our words because, here,  we feel comfortable in our skin.  Here, we feel like we are representing our true selves.  Here, we feel a kinship with like-minds and we feel a comfort level that truly allows us to just be who we are, stripped of any preconceived notions.

Our thoughts and prose give us permission to expose ourselves.  The only shroud we hide behind is the blanket of our truth and our musings.  We leave the most important part of ourselves open for all to read and, in that part, we find the inner strength to continue our journey.  Our inhibitions are no longer stifling us from exposing our innermost thoughts and feelings.  We feel accepted in our natural state.

We do ourselves a grave injustice and we add nothing to this world if we cloak ourselves in any cloth that hides who we truly are.   To be completely ourselves, to be truly naked, we need to trust in the path we follow.  We need to believe that the people who are near and dear to us know the true essence of what we represent, and we need to feel that the people meeting us here for the first time understand the inner workings of our brains.

Be honest in your writing, let it reflect who you are, and don’t deny your readers the opportunity to see you as you truly want to be seen.  Let them into your mind.  Let them see you naked.

The colors of my memories

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My umbrella could not protect me

from the rain that would come.

Like a tsunami of emotion,

sadness hit me with a fury,

threatening to pull me into its current

and drown me in its torrents.

Some days the emotion feels heavy, oppressive,

like wax dripping on canvas,

and the thin veil of my resolve is not enough

to shield me from the pain of loss.

wax on canvas

But on the good days,

I can bathe in the colors of that storm.

I am the black and white character

wading into a flushed prism of good memories

and I no longer feel alone.

Although you are not physically here with me,

your brush still adds a splash of life to my canvas

and those hues make me feel connected again.

How good it feels

to walk through the reminiscence of you.

 (image credit)

My heart chose you

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In the endless sea of possibility,

my heart chose you.

Even though so many things didn’t add up,

the circumstance was wrong,

and the timing was so off,

my heart still chose you.

It wasn’t love at first sight.

My heart has hurt before

and had healed.

It is cautious and careful.

I went in with my eyes wide open

and my heart sewn shut.

Soon, the stitches began to fray,

and as much as I tried to turn from the truth,

my heart chose you.

 And if it happens anew,

if we live again in a different lifetime,

no matter when or where,

my heart will find you

and choose you all over again.

otters

(image credit)

The things we were meant to find beautiful

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They grab my attention

and hold me in their embrace.

Chasing them to catch just the right shot

is like chasing the illusion of perfection.

Their shapes, like our lives, can change in an instant

also changing our perspective.

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Once you adjust your position

the view is never the same.

The closer you get to something,

the more beautiful it becomes.

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Sometimes, if you are lucky,

the view is so much better than you anticipated

and those moments should be savored,

breathed in like a fine wine.

 Our destiny is written in the sky,

our hope, painted on the largest canvas possible

but our dreams can change in a whisper.

Although the wind may alter the portrait,

perhaps it was meant to change.

Just maybe, life is as big as the sky

and those clouds should be the cherished blessings

of the things we were meant to find beautiful.

Even the greyest skies can be beautiful

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Mottled grey,

monochromatic morning

lending a painting

as the ceiling of our day.

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The sky need not be pink

for us to see its splendor.

There is beauty in all things,

we just have to look beyond the norm.

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A storm will come and go

but there is always artistry

in the wake of its anger.

From darkness blossoms light.

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When the world seems silent, the heart still has a voice.

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The whisper of real love

tickled my ears so long ago

and feels like a long forgotten conversation.

Those words,

those sweet nothings,

sadly,

no longer seem to be in my vocabulary.

But the book of love

still has music in it and

every so often I open that book.

Those notes play melodies on my heart-strings.

The familiar phrases of love,

the notes on the scales of romance,

still exist

and play wistfully in my memory.

Perhaps I am meant to hear that music again.

Just maybe the songs I hear from that book

are heard by someone else

and we haven’t yet had a chance to listen to them together.

For just a moment,

 I want to close my eyes and really hear the music.

I want the Book of Love

to play a song for me just one more time

and have it be the only song I truly hear

for the rest of my life.

Clearing my own sky

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Lost in the clouds,

wondering where I have gone.

Have I been trapped in the light,

or lost in the wisps of reality?

The true me is there somewhere,

obscured between the light and the shadow,

pushing my way out from behind my feigned existence.

I have been living,

but there should be more life in my life.

There is so much more to me

than the me I currently am.

But how do I harness that concealed energy?

How do I reign in

that part of me that exists in my mind?

How do I grip that vapor,

and turn it into something real,

something tangible,

something I can take from those clouds

and make it a genuine part of my world?

How do I brush those clouds away

so the lightest parts of me can shine?

Sailing into a storm

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I felt it.

Like the prickling of goosebumps,

I sensed the energy was different yesterday.

There were no warnings,

there was no black cloud in the sky,

but the winds of my day shifted

and my boat pitched on the stormy sea of Sunday.

Waves threatened to pull me into the angry water

but I held fast to my rudder

trying to steer myself to the calmness in the distance.

 Energy that surrounded me

knocked the hull of my sanctity

sending me further off my course.

When I finally reached the safe shore of my home,

the voyage of my day settled.

The wind no longer pushed me away from myself

and my calm found me again,

settled in for the night

and lulled me back into happiness.

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