Somewhere near the produce between the oranges and tumbling peppers a song, Ed Sheeran is singing and the tears arrive, as I listen. (I don't usually cry in public but the emotion is undeniable.)
I am still as a river rock, while the shoppers flow around, struck by hearing the words I couldn't hear before. I let their message in feeling what you were trying to say. What I was unable to receive before.
I don't care that I am crying next to the bananas.
Sometimes
the light turns red before we have left the intersection
leaving our tail end vulnerable
sometimes
our brakes don’t work, spinning on black ice with
blurred windows of reaction
sometimes
we must go slowly, inching through the fog in faith
blinded by dense thoughts
sometimes
breakdowns leave us on the rainy roadside
unpacking resourcefulness
sometimes
forgiveness shows up like an invitation
an off-ramp never seen before
sometimes
we just need to stay on the road
grip and steer
This was written in 2019 and still resonates with me today. This driving metaphor definitely places me in a car-centered culture. Each of us is navigating our way through the day. Be kind and assume the best intentions of others.
Join a welcoming group of poets for Open Link Night -dVerse Poets’ Pub HERE.
I took this photo in Lisbon, Spain. Such a fun curve in the street.
She led me to the library, fed stories to my ears taught me how to keep the family blood circulating to pull my shoulders back, stand proud
she showed me laughter around the table camping in cold rain, beauty beyond lipstick the effective use of stubborn determination
she made a million meals without consideration flowered apron ready dinners with a smile Did she even enjoy cooking? I don't remember anyone asking her.
She washed clothes, replacing them in drawers a revolving door of dirty to clean just another behind the scenes devotion.
How much did we notice the way she kept the boat afloat watching for leaks while we slept.
Photo taken in Portland, Oregon on my hike of "appreciating the flowering trees" this past weekend. They remind me to love big. I hope they inspire you to reach out to someone you have been missing.
A big thank you to editor Barbara Leonhard for publishing my poem, Words For Sale. This poem considers the value of poetry and the possibilities that a poem can offer. I invite you to visit MasticadoresUsa to read the poem, enjoy the poetry of others, and share your thoughts.
Thank you to all the readers that help keep poetry alive.
Within the writing circle, I use poems as prompts. Each person is invited to let their words fall onto the page. During a recent gathering, we wrote from Kim Russell’s poem, Just Saying. It was the perfect poem to jump from. Thank you, Kim.
In celebration of two people who recently tried the writing circle for the first time I am sharing their poems. It takes courage to share your voice and hear it reflected back to you. Thank you to Tandy and Frannie.
It’s not just a thought. It’s the feelings and hope of a new tomorrow. It’s not just a dream. It’s the past remembered, re-created, and processed to form the future. It’s not just a memory it’s all the memories that come together from the depth of the soul and leave a mark on the world. It’s not just me. It’s everyone who has come before me and everyone who will come after to continue the circle.
By Tandy Wolf
It is not just a memory it is the past awaking in the mind time long and short ago sorted and squished into shapes and colors and whispers to ignite present feelings.
It is not just bird songs but wafts of melodious sounds carried on a spring breeze swirling and drifting into a grateful consciousness.
In winter's grasp, we linger, longing for spring's embrace. Does the waiting make arrival all the more precious? A glowing light across the street reminds me of companionship. Within these cold days gathering, we are the light for each other. Together is our way forward toward blooming.
Often wintertide darkness can seem a season too long. I cradle reminders of past flowers, new growth of green wrapped in warm memories of meandering meadows wide. While frost edges my windows in delicate design. In winter's grasp, we linger, longing for spring's embrace.
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 