You were not invited, yet you surreptitiously walked in during the morning hours, the shower in the background and Madonna dancing and singing, while I cupped my hands and....screamed! You were there, and for months you had accompanied me, wearing such clever disguises that no one recognized you, though I had had a suspicion.
You were there, hiding, minute by minute, growing in confidence for the moment you would strike the final blow.
...
Like some decision sitting on a fence,
the day is cold, chilly, changing colors.
Alternately, snapping to attention,
it poses at the photographer’s bidding.
...
A scene for romance, a bottle of wine,
Ripe olives, some pasta, any kind of dance
Takes me back to long ago days of my youth,
When as a young girl, I dreamed of romance,
...
Inside. Outside. There’s work needing to be done.
It matters not whether the cost is little or a lot,
Whether it’s sunny or stormy, cold or hot.
...
heavy with clouds
the sky... beneath winged feet
the scented air..
a honey-suckled breeze...
...
The streets are smeared, slick and wet,
Rivulets of screaming madness crash
Against the peace. The night is too harsh.
One could end up in a discarded heap.
...
I wonder, does time truly heal the wounds
of loss, of emptiness? Can it heal pain,
Sorrow, grief, the wailing of self-blaming?
The truth is a stain. It colors the bruises I wear.
...
When mornings are born each day and anew...
And skies are painted a crystal-clear robin's
Egg blue, the sun dances and kisses with hot
Lip's breeze, the shoulders of the loving-tree.
...
Over the chilled landscape
the flakes flutter slowly and softly,
laying down a blanket of purest white~
ah, such striking beauty
...
In its serenity, the morning is painted
In shades of misty gray, in shades
Of fading green, in shades of dripping wet,
Persevering. Waiting for relief.
...