Categories
Poetry

At Five

Sometimes

I feel five.

Like the world is big

and I am small.

And there are kids all around

bigger than me,

louder,

scarier,

bolder than this softness

that folds me

like tissue.

(No one else folds like tissue.

Just me.)

The softness of me at five

lingers;

a scent

(like lavender)

on the breeze

of my soul.

The softness of me.

The softness of me.

Categories
Poetry

Each Day

May each day

bring each heart

a brand new shining sun.

Categories
Poetry

A Great Land

I have lived in a great land

beyond time,

beyond name

beyond here.

Where the sun kissed my soul

morning and night,

and my days were surrounded

by honey pink flowers

and tangerine trees.

Sometimes,

I try to forget about that place.

The faded perfection of this world

never does compare

to the sweet milky sunsets

of my homeland.

Still, I visit occasionally.

Still, I suppose I always will.

Categories
Poetry

The Wolf

When the moon is full

they will remember:

the wolf howls

into the shining night.

And so do they.

Categories
Poetry

Flight

Her flight

was sweet.

And every bit as magical

as the hummingbird

sipping honeysuckle

beside her.

Categories
Poetry

Dreams

Will I always dream of life beyond the creaky bones of now?

The other side of the hill will call again, no doubt, whispering: this is what your life could be.

And though my heart is full, will I always dream of something more?

Of the life beyond the life?

The echo of the here.

The shadow of the now.

Dreams are always somewhere else, aren’t they?In a place that doesn’t exist.

Shall I creep towards that place, knowing there is no destination?

Knowing the birth of a dream will only end it and call forth the birth a new one?

Knowing the dream train will never ever reach the station?

Categories
Poetry

The Kaleidoscope

I shall name humanity

‘the kaleidoscope’.

Each of us a colour.

All of us the shimmering view.

Yet, still,

despite the glorious, glimmering shine

of individuality,

we insist others dress

the colour ‘me’.

What for?

What will come of the view

if I live as ‘you‘?

Categories
Poetry

The Day The Sun Died

The ocean was alive the day the sun died.

Nobody saw its white beauty.

Nobody felt the cool of its break on their skin.

Eerie silence rose into the sky the day the sun died.

Pain instead of joy, broken instead of fixed;

life, never to shine again.

The sun was dead.

Still the ocean was perfect.

Categories
Poetry

Heaven

Heaven is

the delicate slice of sun

on dry

cracked

soil.

Categories
Poetry

These Tears

Do these tears make you

uncomfortable?

How about

this:

does the rain make you

uncomfortable?

The sky

is not afraid to rain, and I

am not afraid to cry.

I am not afraid of what you’ll

think

of me if I cry. Just as I am not

afraid

of what you’ll think of me if

I sneeze.

Or laugh.

Or breathe.