This Beautiful Day Was Not Made For Me

Antibiotics and steroids

This is my routine

October day near eighty

Not for me

 

Take the dogs for a walk

See my skin revolt

Feel my mind shrivel

Lump in my throat

 

I love the fall

It’s usually for me

My energy returns

Not this year

What random object has been left beside the door?


I slowly navigate down our flights of stairs
pondering the mystery that lies at the bottom.
The mystery of objects left….
Yesterday a bag filled of clothes
Last week a frying pan, a playpen
Today, will it be a pile of books
or a set of towels?
What random object has been left beside the door?
Where did it come from?
Where is it to go?
I wonder who leaves these objects and why?
Truly, I don’t really want to know.
I want the mystery, the secret
to continue intriguing me.
These random objects left beside the door
each have a story, a lost history
a tale I am free to imagine just
how I want it to be.
The objects we have left behind
a pair of glasses, a pink sweater
significant or trivial
forgotten or missed
they are pieces to our story
pieces of life we have left behind.
I almost forgot…
What random object has been left beside the door?
Today, a stack of old dishes.
River 9/10

at Dusk, it Begins…. (revised)

at Dusk, it Begins….

stillness shields the air and
parched earth from the humid day
it begins to lightly rain

a burst of light
brightens the dusk lit eve
diminishing the calm
announcing the arrival

from the West come winds
lifting trees into slow dance

echoes of thunder vibrate
beats from beneath
sprinkles grow to drops
the parched earth drinks

the wind picks up and howls
whipping the huge maple around
around in a frantic dance

reaching boundaries and limits
revealing truths of me

bolts of light explode in thought
forming silhouettes of trees
exposing their surrender
night engulfs day

unlocking the power
two forces explode
releasing their hold

the wind moves on
rain begins to slow

the horizon lights up
in a burst of electric white
scattered across the sky
a distant rumble fades

a smell grows of
new rains and
cleansed earth

renewed in life
imbued in me

once more
River 7/10

his poem was inspired from my ramblings during a thunderstorm.  At one point, sirens went off and we went to the basement. Also, I was inspired by the writings of  slpmartin with the writing style. :)

*revised from a poem earlier in the summer. Are they different? Find the older version and compare them.  🙂    same name just scratch revised.  🙂

A White Tail Feather

The still of the lake calms my soul
I wait beneath the willow.
A breeze moves through her branches
lightly touching my face,
sweeping the hair from my eyes.
An Eagle calls in the distance.

My mind races with pictures and words,
adventures and quests of self and we.
Along the horizon lined with dark blue waters
bursts colors of red and orange.
I offer my asemaa.
An Eagle glides above calling my name.

Morning rises as I answer my old friend.
A gentle ripple forms on the lake
as the wind delivers our greetings to the other.
His calls are carried to my open arms.
His words pass through me.
I hear the call of an Eagle leaving with the wind.

He lands on the broken arm of an ash
on the sands of the shore near the willow.
Praising me for walking the path
many have guided me towards for years.
A choice of life destined to be.
My first tracks are laid down.

He lifts his wings and stretches
to a magnificent size of honor and respect
wisdom and truth with humility.
He tells me to listen and be open
to what crosses my path
for this is just the beginning.

Rising with every flap of his powerful wings
he lifts into the blue sky calling his goodbye.
I answer with gratitude and love
as I notice something lying on a rock.
He has left for me a piece of him
a white tail feather.

This poem is for One Shot Wednesday held by One Stop Poetry. To read other peoples works click here

Drip, Drip, Drip -a Magpie prompt

Drip, Drip, Drip

She submerges in the warm bubbly water

not allowing the annoyance of the drip

to sink in and add

to her overabundant irritability.

The reason she was drove to this bathtub with bubbles

behind a locked door.

She surfaces to hear the cries of her youngest,

“Mom”  yells the oldest.

She dives back under imaging a bliss of quite,

holding her breathe for as long as she can.

The water thins as the rattle of the door gets louder.

She glances at her toes peeking out and smiles

as she climbs out she can’t help thinking through the noise,

At least my toes look awesome.

~Windy

I’m Missing

I know the time is creeping near.

When will you be home, my dear?

I spend all my time complaining.

My interest in life is truly waning.

Sorry if I come across as rude.

I’m not even looking at food

I know we fulfilled many things.

Still, being away from you stings.

Windy ~July 6

Weeks away from you

Time without the natural

Inspiration lost

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