You
are ancient honey,
immutable in memory.
.
Floating on your laughter
I could touch stars.
.
The world was rose pink
with my yearning.
.
A sunrise through spectacles,
song rising on dawn,
desire enfolded in dream,
I wore innocence.
.
Your sweet kisses
colour my cheeks
in memory.
What wasn’t
When she opened her eyes
Was what she’d wished for
For so long
That wishing was all she had.
What was
When she opened her eyes
Was what she’d been blind to
For so long
That wishing was all she’d had.
Inferno fills sky,
flames roil like crashing sea,
cremating the sun.
A sales lady
rhapodized over my
red and purple shoes.
“I wish I had the guts
to wear something like that,”
she said, sighing.
“I always admire
great shoes on other people.”
.
I told someone of this,
and she said,
“I know what she means.
I used to envy people
who had the courage to wear
red lipstick.”
I smiled,
gazing at her scarlet lips.
“Do you feel super-powered
in that lipstick?”
Her eyes just twinkled in response.
.
We hold ourselves back,
from what will
make our spirits soar,
reveal our natures,
demonstrate our individuality,
because of what?
Fear of censure by dullards?
or
Fear of our own unleashed potential?
.
Embrace the tokens
of your power:
wear shoes that make your feet
dance in the street,
and lipstick that makes your smile
a billboard for your joy.
Be you
in all your
power.
.
(Thanks Julia, for loaning me the lipstick image). 😉
She sits
above the sky
silently watching
sun on shore
sliding to the horizon
dropping
slowly
beyond the sea.
Lunar landscape
miles upon miles
of dust,
red rocks,
and sky
stretching wider than a sky has business stretching
then a surprise:
startlingly blue lake
reflects cloudless blue sky
and London Bridge.
How odd.
.
.
.
Lake Havasu City, Arizona, is set beside the lake formed by Parker Dam on the Colorado River. The city is accessed via historic Route 66.
The
lampposts
.
.
are
invisible
.
.
in
this mist
.
.
and
so the
.
.
haloed
bulbs,
.
.
floating,
glow:
.
.
UFOs
above
.
.
the
road.
.
.
.
Your fingers grow
twisted like mangled branches.
Your hands grow knobbly like old roots.
You groan and stretch, astonished at the youth
of your mind and agonized at the aging of your body.
But I see the same man whose brain enthrals
like a tall, dependable
trunk.
whose
body
captivates
like a
canopy
of new
green.
I played among branches and roots as a child,
and I still love climbing trees.
A note to us
back then:
These days are precious;
you will savour your
memories of camaraderie
at the end of the road,
from the distance of
two decades.
Warm wood fires,
and warmer friendships,
Mothers and small children
budding careers,
and many dreams
were nurtured there
at the end of the road.
World travels,
Publication,
Independence
All dreams you barely
dare to dream
come true
in time.
Still, that time
at the end of the road
with faith and friendship,
warm hearts,
is where our daring
began.
.
For Claudia (and Heather and Francine and the rest of the Woods Road gang, actual and honourary) as I remember cookie exchanges, coffee, tea, cooking lessons, painting, laughter, prayer, and bats. 🙂
I believed,
I really did.
I told myself,
‘It will be.”
But I hoarded words.
I wished,
I wondered,
I waited.
I held my words tightly.
It is bold
to send words away
to find their friends.
But when words
are shared
worlds are opened
to new horizons.
Life lifts off
when we believe
in our words,
and set them free.
Shawn L. Bird 