A Poem A Day (2)
DAY 6:
sun soaked
morning eyed
fidgety feet
eager mind
coffee cup
ready to breathe
sky high
grass low
heart full
children laugh
music plays
house a home
bellies stuffed
smile wide
hands in dirt
sweat dripped
complaints made
cold popsicles
task complete
voices resting
BBQ fire
sun setting
hungry
kitchen bustling
bellies full, again
cuddled on the couch
no empty seats
episode 1
episode 2
one more
stars bright
curious thoughts
gazing
bedtime passed
moments cherished
teeth brushed
covers tucked
glass of water
stillness
rest
peace
sleep
DAY 7:
It won’t be the luxury sheets, the fancy car, or the designer clothes that hang.
It won’t be the items we fill every corner with - the big screens, the sectional, or the latest sneakers.
It won’t matter how full your account is/was/or will be. Or the many seas and land your feet once touched.
It won’t be that badge, ribbon, or reward you received that one day after working so hard.
It will be the connections you made. The love you gave. The laughter you joined. The friendships you built.
They don’t parade your belongings of status at your funeral or park your boat out front.
They file in, one by one, each taking a moment from their limited days to honor the one who passed.
She is not buried with jewels laced around her neck.
So, tell me why then, why, do we focus on the flood of worldly items when NONE of it comes with us?
It’s all false decorations of a man-made status of success.
I raise this question - Is one woman’s/man’s worth greater than another’s if one holds jewels while living, and the other holds hearts in death?
DAY 12:
Barefeet - mountain air, stream flows. Clear mind, open heart to hear the call. Dirt trail, crisp fire air. Wildflowers, aspens sway, and you there next to me.
DAY 13:
A cup of joe warming her palm, a pen in the other. Words released, heart bleed, let it flow. A cup of joe an empty page, the courage to speak, walls to climb, barriers to break with a pen, and a cup of joe.
DAY 14:
I want to run with the freedom of expectations without society screaming, “come back!”
I want to run in the opposite direction, where fairies play and angels sing. Where the sea is the sky and the sky is the sea.
I want to run naked in the trees lining the star smeared Universe.
I want to run with the sun setting in my chest and butterfly wings at my feet.
I want to run wild without ancestral hurt perched on my shoulders.
I want to run with the lions as the hair brushes my face.
I want to run home. Where color is sight, words are sex, food is thought, and silence is power.
