On the balcony, overlooking the sea, inside of time,
they drank their tea. Blessed by orange and gold,
the sun set slowly, holding every moment,
hand in hand, a dream set on repeat.
Yesterday came and went, and the ticket remained
on the shelf. She folded up the sunset with the tea,
inside the hands, palm lines underneath time.
Today is forever remembering tomorrow.
lost
without
sea soul set
think hope peace float
one being love being one
peace feel hope fly
sun soul sky
within
lost
walk away within
inside, through and stop
wait, hold and go
away and away
fall and watch, wonder
hurt, pause, see fly
hope and then hope
collapse
The piece of me that is the sky
flies within the blue, hopes with
the sun, believes the clouds.
Above, the piece watches me,
sends me to the sea to breathe,
scatters green, gifts wildflowers
like smiles. In the sky, a piece of me
flies, and within me lies ~
a perfect piece of sky.
archways
lending light
cathedral
and when she would glide,
remember her white and honest
she tucked beneath her wings,
a trail of glow bloomed beneath
her. float. shine, water angel,
collector of let go dreams, swim
in swirl of come true bright,
flashing believe, keeper of know,
angel wings save sinking hope,
swan’s heart throwing light.
in how shall i wait when i drift
within the feel of all that is you,
music and the wrap of my soul,
wildflowers and goodnight kisses,
guardian mountains and speaking eyes.
traveling my days woven with your
every thought, and mine, and wait,
so patience rings like a bell tower
on the highest hill, and I climb
by the sun’s pull and my know of you
to the now that waits for tomorrow,
each step and word, hope leading to
us.
and then there was you,
and shadows bowed and carried daisies,
for the sun returned and sung the sky
to my blue. maples and oaks whispered,
wove their leaves in the breeze, throwing
dancing dapples of sunlight around me.
and i laid my wildflower days in your music,
wrapped like summer and water’s float,
ten thousand balloons, each one called hope,
stayed floating in my new sky,
because there was you.
falling snowflake
crystallized hope
drops in white
looks to be
caught, held
to join
and turn it all
to white, and
know why
she fell. But,
instead, she
drops into a
puddle, a sea
waiting to steal
her white, and
all of her
why
is
gone.
Icy tree under the fire sky
holds on to her shine, grips
her tender fingers with diamond
drops and defies him to threaten
her with his heat. She is proud,
stands at the top of the rise,
tips back her head and sings.
Her frozen limbs swing to catch
late day light, sparkle and know
she belongs this way, shining
through angry fire. He closes in,
trying to melt her delicate ice,
but she holds it higher, her promise,
until fire has melted, receded,
and all that remains behind
is the blue glow of hope.
The sound of the water travels
through the hills, a melody of bubbles,
rocks, and reasons. Bare December
trees look down on honest, leafy blankets
covering rocky ground. Follow the call
of moving water; it speaks of patience
and travels that never end, only pick up
leaves to carry along the way. Moss
wraps rocks in green warmth, whispers
them secrets of softness and holding on.
And then, the light filters gently, with hope,
kissing the water into swirls and drops,
sounds of you everywhere.
beyond dark trees/
stone peaks of grey/
light finds a way
All night she stayed,
forehead pressed
against the chilly window,
waiting for the rain
to turn to snow.
Pleading eyes watched
the streetlight, as rain
fell down, and wind
chased it sideways.
All she needed
was to see it turn
white, to cover life
outside the window
with tiny pieces of
icy hope.
But morning brought
only dark puddles
outside and on
her face.
Juliette wears a white bow in her hair.
Each morning, as the tent city awakens at daybreak, and the pangs
of relentless hunger return, she lifts her head from a pillow of rags to find
the white bow. Her mother once tied it in her hair, before Port-au-Prince perished,
Mama was gone, and only hardship remained. She crawls from the torn tent,
finds her sister, fixing the rocks that hold together their home. Vacancy,
a void for what has been lost in her eight years. Juliette studies her cracked feet,
hardened leather soles from years of walking with no shoes. And the scabs
on her legs are shaped like flowers that don’t grow amid piles of trash and rubble
surrounding her. Cholera called on their city, took so many, left Juliette uneasy,
a new vulnerability. Nature is cruel and doesn’t care about her feelings, and Juliette
hates her back, with every cringe of her scant body. She shudders.
Sister signals it is time to walk for water. They must go early or they will have none.
Still in partial darkness, the sisters make their way uneasily through the weary paths
of the tent city. Vulnerable and exposed, they move quickly in the muddy alleys.
The water walk they make daily is silent but has a song of scarcity and despair,
the sound of wind in a dried up riverbed. Juliette feels the song with each step.
They return, in the stifling Haiti sun, each with a bucket of water balanced on her head.
Sometimes, in the heat, Juliette’s eyes start to swim and her head swirls, and her feet
feel as though they are sinking. But she never forgets the sheer significance of water,
nor the burden she carries. One bucket of water will be saved for them, and one will buy
something to eat. It is nearly all she thinks about: food. She is tired, depleted, and
leans back against a rock outside their torn tent, making a large circle in the dirt
with her fnger. Smiling, she takes her dusty finger and makes her circle into a balloon.
Juliette wears a white bow in her hair.
(note: this photo is courtesy of Save the Children, Juliette is the child I sponsor in Haiti)
Talking to the Clouds 