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Posts tagged ‘poetry’

The Running



Dear Diary,


The Child is poised

On the edge of an endless field

Crisp, tall grasses sway and wave

Cajoling the vivid wildflowers within.

The shy bright sprigs

Slide against the shifting sea of grasses,

And then coyly bend away

In the ruffling breeze.

The breathless wind skips over the tips,

The whispering is barely audible.

It teases the flora

And it teases the Child,

Tickling a place deep within that has no words or reason.

A child must run

When faced with a wide open field

Or even a long corridor.

The impulse insists

And the Child runs

Happily embracing the burst

Of brief careless freedom.

There is no destination or purpose.

There is only the running.





Stealth Inspiration


Dear Diary,


Rustling in the fringes

That Thought

A flash of indiscriminate color,

A glimpse of the quirk of a mocking smile,

Then stillness

Opening out and spreading

Silence seeping in, then saturating.

That Thought

Nowhere to be seen,

Or heard

But I feel it,



Blending with the surrounding scenery.

Time slows

The Thought hides

and I wait, poised and expectant

for Inspiration to leap and strike.

Where The Desert Meets The Sky



Dear Diary,


I can’t exactly tell

Where the Desert kisses the Sky.

The silence hides their passion well,

But the smoldering shimmer reveals the lie.


Is it where the dunes reach to embrace?

Or where the valley submissively yields?

Perhaps it’s when a sudden wind does race

Over the seemingly barren and brooding fields.


Electricity trembles where they doth touch.

My senses hum the tune they sing.

So thickly quiet, but speaking so much.

My skin is parched and mine eyes they sting

The blue is brilliant against the sand’s pale clutch

The sun it colors me and the sand doth cling.


Cocoon Series #-84

Dear Diary,


My cocoon

Is neither warm nor cold.

It is neither black nor bright.

It is slightly too large.

My footfalls echo when I am pacing.

But I am not always pacing.

Mostly, I sit in the center,


Emptying my mind

Listening vaguely to

The whispers

Of my Evolution

In the quiet

Drawing stamina

For the brilliant butterfly of my existence

On the outside

Of my cocoon.




Dear Diary,


Dark streaks on the window pane


The rain.

The rivulets stutter

And absorb the filth

Before pushing relentlessly downward

Continuing the purposeful journey

To soak the ground

To enable growth to spring forth.

At times they are trapped by manmade


Or plastic

Rendering them useless to their mission.

There they wait

Until the sun collects them

Once again


Anticipating the chance to try again.

The Blackness


Dear Diary,


That dark, lonely place

We go


Away from life bustle

Away from the love and joy we know

Can be charcoal gray with frayed edges,


The deepest black with no sides or depth.

A cocoon of despair,

We lay engulfed and alone within our mind,

Lost in time and place

Wanting only numbness.


We have all felt depressed. Eventually, most of us can gather the fortitude to take our own hand to ascend back into the daylight to continue moving within life’s bustle and accept the love and joy we know exists for us and realize pain is just part of the whole game. Oftentimes, it does take a kind touch or word from someone else to pierce the darkness and coax us back into the realm of positive function. Depression is a universal tourist trap that we all have visited solo in our life travels. However, some people get lost there and cannot fully reemerge onto the highway and shake off the lingering blackness. Be aware of those with such a clinging cloak, look closely through well manufactured facades. It will be their undoing. Perhaps a bit of sun or aid offered will be the salve that is needed to pull them out of the pothole and back on the path. Perhaps it will not be enough. But our eyes should not be blind and our hands tired of trying. And if you find yourself in a seemingly impenetrable state of depression, try turning it on its head by being there for someone else who is struggling. You also must let your loved ones in to help you because, believe me, they do want to keep you. And of course there is always professional help as well.


Joan D. Chittister goes so far to say that  “Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in the sunlight.” Depression happens, but it must not be allowed to move in and stay. Use it and then lose it.

Those Dreams


Dear Diary,

The Dreams,

They come.

Some weave and pass

On their meandering way

Leaving no mark

Or snag of questions.

Others bite and hold

Presenting riddles

To be played out over time

Warnings or truths to be presented


Words or events to be watched for

Some unfold quickly,

Others languish

In time

Pricking thoughts at odd intervals

Or lost within the flow of days, but still


Awaiting consciousness.

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