Whisper of Fairies
Is her flight
She flits about
The garden bright
A mythical little sprite.
With an aura of delight
She spins a tapestry of flight
Incandescent in the night
Buds open at the sight.
Whispers echo in wind’s gust
Amidst the garden flowers
A light film of pixie dust
Becomes a cryptic shower.
Visions fair and small
Walk amongst us each day
Spreading magic wide and tall
Alluring creatures of the Fay.
Fortune smiles on you
If you see such a sprite
You are among the few
For she will ease your plight
And make all dreams come true.
Hope floats across the universe and settles into the soul,
Whispering encouraging words when much else fails.
Hope begins, born in the depths of longing and need,
Stemming from belief that prevails.
Hope encourages, motivates, and lifts
It is able to move mountains - it is a divine gift.
Hope is heartening for the downcast,
An elemental force which exists to bring
A growing force of will to one's heart
Like the first blossoms in spring.
Hope sustains the weak, reinforces the tough,
Instilling a belief we can go forward
Even in times that are dismal and rough.
Hope resonates through thick and thin,
Whether it be the size of a boulder
Or the size of the tiniest pin.
Hope remains an integral part
In the depths of our heart
As we clutch it close
Hoping for what we want most.
Hope is essential, it must be in our midst
To keep us from faltering lest we cease to exist.
Hope is to live and persist.
Borne on life's wild waves,
With a heart cloaked in knowledge,
I learned love's cruel ways.
Curvature: a word that embodies a great deal in only nine letters of the alphabet. Its simplicity, beauty, and fluidity are synonymous with and in a multitude of descriptive phrases, limitless in interpretation.
Sleek, supple, sublime
In the turn of an elbow or
The bend of a knee,
With the rippling arch of a spine,
Moving across the incurve
Of rounded buttocks or breasts,
In the spin of a curling hair,
Found in the crook of an arm,
Or as the body bestows a bow
In greeting or thanks,
Along a meandering roadway,,
With the evolving movement
discovered in the step
Of a graceful dancer,
As light refracts and reflects
To form a cascading rainbow
Of continuous colors,
With the sweeping swerve
Of an artist's paintbrush,
Seen in a swirl of smoke,
The collective coils of a rope,
In the wind’s embrace,
And the softest whisper,
As a swerving tree limb
Lifts leaves and blossoms
To the sky,
Along the slope of a hill
And a mountain,
Or ever steady
In the woven tale
Created in the circle of life.
Sweet as Song
The large blackbird landed with a screech atop the high post fence. From his perch, he cocked his head sideways, surveying the long porch that ran the length of the pool. It was scattered with an array of items from last night’s party: empty and half-full glasses of champagne, beaded necklaces, discarded masks, and half-eaten food. Damn, but Mardi Gras was one big party.
The crow looked about. No one. They were all sleeping inside after their night of drunken revelry. With ease, the determined blackbird flew to a chair where he plucked a bright turquoise feather from a mask. He’d hit the jackpot.
Arriving back at the nest, the bird found his mate resting comfortably on four bluish-green eggs. It wouldn’t be long before they’d have a full house. With care, he loosed the feather into the nest, right next to the beads and coins he’d pilfered earlier.
The mother bird squawked her approval, quite pleased by her lover’s newest gift. All the other blackbirds and expectant mothers should be so lucky. It wasn’t everyday one’s spouse stole such expensive, pretty trinkets.
The father-to-be puffed out his chest, proud of the home he’d built. Life was sweet as song.
Rapture of Wings
Her presence filled the garden.
Tender was her flight, earth shatteringly encompassing my soul, reminiscent of sunshine in spring, misty dewdrops on petals, and light breezes.
Whispering and echoing a tale of enchantment, she flew down the path, buzzing about in the spectrum of afternoon’s fading light. Her ethereal, fairy like approach was wondrous delight, and the rapture of bejeweled wings could be heard as she drank her fill from the brightest of blooms.
I paused and I watched her iridescent, colorful form, ever sure that the spin of the earth stopped in wonder like the beat of my heart.
Her presence filled the garden, encompassing my soul.
Like sunshine in spring, dewdrops on petals, the lightest of breezes - whispering, echoing along the winding path.
I paused, watching her fairylike approach, ever sure that the spin of the earth stopped in wonder, like the beat of my heart.
The world lingers maddeningly at my fingertips
I shiver, trying fervently to shake free though it insists
Exhaling, a deep sigh escapes through thinly parted lips
Frustration crescendos as the beast stubbornly persists.
“I want no more,” through clenched teeth, I whisper to the air
Waiting and hoping the masses will hear my desperate cry
But the night air is frigid, recoiling and instilling dark despair
My mind capitulates: I want answers lest I stumble and die.
I stand with indecision in the vortex of my life
Ever faltering, unsure where my next step will land
My breath is heavy, cold amidst the intense strife
Until, abruptly, I feel an invisible touch of a hand.
“Stay,” the coarse echo reverberates deep in my soul
“I need you to breathe,” another echo in the still of night.
“You have a right to fight this abiding absurdity for control.
Destiny awaits, disguised in the angst of your plight.”
Ambivalence mounts into an unfathomable sense of regret
Filling the heart with a struggle of a force reckoned as me
Stumbling backwards, my body grows limp until I’ve met
The cold ledge beneath me, as trembling, I collapse on my knees.
A sob issues forth from the depth of my heart
“Have you no courage to finish the task?”
I scream in the night as my mind silently imparts
A new fraction of hope and design amid the attack.
Looking for answers, I search the night’s atmosphere
Hoping there’s a reason looming in distant stars
My existence needs reassurance and to be steered
In a direction that doesn’t see only the depth of my scars.
Distracted, I’m mesmerized by an orb falling fast
Streaking the sky in a brilliant blaze of light’s glow
I watch with new vision hitherto unsurpassed
As a new desire for life resonates, yearning to grow.
Tears streak my cheeks, an emotional storm of release
My heart aches with newfound courage and remorse
How could I wither in my strength, desire that it all cease
This life is a beauteous design, though an obstacle course.
My path’s like a brilliant, bright star, limitless as it empowers
The luminosity shining beside the ever fixed moon and the sun
Constantly spinning in perpetual motion, it is life and it’s ours
Full of future, a web of design, just waiting to be spun.
With a sigh of knowledge most profound, I wipe at my tears
Breathing deeply, allowing the crisp air to clear my mind
New assurance I’ll persevere despite the depth of my fears
Fills my being, casting aside and thwarting despair just in time.
With decided purpose and will in my breast
I rise, taking the first step in my journey of length
Regrouping my tasks, I feel composed as if I’ve had a long rest
Enduring this moment with unrecognized strength.
Tomorrow’s ease of living is not promised or given
We must follow the path as it winds amidst the fields
Of this ever evolving life in all spins as we’re driven
Making sure an allowance of will as we yield.
Poetry is a beautiful literary means in which the writer may connect with someone by using a few or a vast number of carefully selected phrases. The poet pulls in his reader, capturing his senses with unique word sequences and cascading rhythms that are capable of stirring deep emotions. Powerful poetry evokes an array of memories and ideas with which the reader identifies or connects. A poet can easily stoke the reader’s imagination and dreams, taking him on a trip to any place or any spectrum of time.
Poetry is essentially magic, and the poet, the magician.
The Box of Joy
I was dying. It wouldn’t be long now, but I was ready. Well, nearly ready. I still had one thing – the most important thing of all - to do.
Taking a deep breath, I carefully opened an ornate, antique box sitting on the desk in front of me. Reaching just beside it, I picked up three stacks of $10,000, each tied neatly with a periwinkle blue velvet ribbon. I had withdrawn the cash that afternoon from the bank in anticipation of the task at hand. The money was from an unexpected windfall, the result of a long awaited dream. My book had been published, and I had received a substantial down payment – ironically, on the same day I’d received the diagnosis from my physician. It was fate’s cruel mockery of long desired dreams. I smiled. Fate would not have the final hand in this game called ‘my life’. I was hell bent on twisting it up and changing someone else’s fate.
Excitement coursed through me as I moved the stacks of money to the wooden box. My best friend, Abigail, my spirit sister, had a dream. Abigail had held close the desire to visit Italy since she had been a child. She had just turned sixty-five years of age. Somehow, she’d never managed to save enough money to make the dream a reality, probably because she gave so much to others. Well, now it would all change. The legacy found in my long awaited book’s publication would be my gift to Abigail. Her dream would manifest into reality, and I would reap the true benefit as I left this world.
Once I’d stacked the money inside the box, I closed its lid and ran my fingers over the brass plate. Abigail, Cherished Friend of Mine. We had been friends since 5th grade, going through many heartaches, tribulations, and also during happier times. There was no one more important to me in this world. I’d left detailed instructions that the box not be opened but given directly to Abigail immediately following my death. My only regret was I would not be able to see her face when she received it.
I picked up a pen and pulled a piece of blank stationery from the desk drawer. I knew precisely what I wanted to say to Abigail, and it was short and sweet. Slowly, I began to write, the brown ink of my fountain pen marking the ivory-colored paper. This was my most important manuscript ever.
To my dearest friend,
For Italy where dreams and destiny await your arrival. I pray you will find everything - and more – than you desire. Look for me in your heart…..always.
I folded the note, opened the box, and placed it inside. I felt pure, unadulterated joy. Suddenly, this dance called life was worthwhile.
I exhaled and relaxed, contentment flooding my weakened body. My final joy would be found in Abigail’s joy, and it would carry me forward to the unknown.