A party of blue jays flew over my head into the forest, going home for the night
I chase happiness flying with fresh wings and dream of it well into the night
I ran here and there until the lights went out Sitting by my window, I stared down the night
Stars glistened, the half moon smiled night birds sang, what a peaceful night
quiet descended upon my spirit I floated in the solitude of night
I only now see you in my dreams The past comes back in the dark of night
That I could hold your hand again My hand slipped into the emptiness of night
Moments by and by pass into oblivion Light dawning breaks the hold of night
The first three couplets of this piece were written in the summer of 2019 after I surprised a band of blue jays in the yard. It was a happy moment and the inspiration for the title “Happiness”. I did not know how to proceed so I abandoned these lines until today. Perhaps, I needed things to happen in my life to find the next lines. I don’t think they fit with the original title though, but I can’t think of another one that is more suitable. So, Happiness it is.
The counters are still empty The cold floor is still clean The sky is still grey –
The furnace wakes sputtering and clanging as steam builds up.
I set the coffee to percolate
flour the counter for the brioche dough prepared last night
to be kneaded and braided and tucked in the pans for one final rise.
Light spreads on the horizon The children stir in their beds;
I take my first sip of coffee savoring the last bits of silence –
The day begins.
I wrote this for Grace’s Meeting the Bar prompt – Setting for DVerse Poets. I am not sure this meets the bar, but I am certainly glad that I got to write somehow (one way or the other) and to participate in the prompts again. I am also fairly certain of the joy of learning how to make bread after giving up on it decades ago because I could not proof yeast. Learning somehow set me free as now, I can make my favorite breads. The one above is brioche which take hours and hours to make.
My little sailboat flounders In a sea of whispers Has it forgotten its course Amidst so many voices Saying go north, or south, or east, or west? My little sailboat spins In the currents.
Is there hope for my sailboat Ensorcelled as it is By sweet-voiced sirens Harboring evil schemes?
Alas! Not the pull of the moon Nor the push of the winds Could set my sailboat free. But, if it could be still And remember The cause for its voyage May she cut its way through the chaos And find its moorings at last.
in its cocoon, so are we
in our bodies
biding the moment
to be a butterfly, free
among the flowers
tender voice of high summer
flying into fall
an empty cocoon
you flew like a butterfly
never to return
Summers are made of these -
butterflies frolicking in the sun
zucchini growing on the ground
barefoot children playing in the yard
swooping on brambles like hungry birds
grabbing berries with eager hands
popsicles dripping on sweaty chin
children dancing under the summer rain
My treasures are a visual prayer
my eyes delight to see:
a garden full of flowers
a pocketful of butterflies, flying free;
broken seashells smelling of the shore
flowered teapots from days of yore
cards and notes bearing good wishes
faded photos of familiar faces
Then, there’s the warmth of sunshine
and the freshness of falling rain
God’s promise in a rainbow
and laughter’s sweet refrain
My soul exalts when remembering
these common miracles, to say the least.
Of gratitude my prayers sing
its cadence clearing through the mist.