Archive for November, 2012

Paint me in twilight

 colored in transitions of becoming

as nature holds its breath


I am forever indigo

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Counting time…

 Counting time  in breaths

for your touch

scrawled across my mind

leaving my body


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Language of Breeze…

My hair

translating the language of breeze

yet all I feel is his touch

  detangling my mind with chills he gave to me

in whispers

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Photo: My own

The slow pull of a whisper’s fade

writing dreams across my mind’s sky

not yet fully seen

until reflected in the soft spill of soul

becoming reality

in the slow exhale of


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It may not be my words, but my story and that of so many others beautifully written

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In stillness inhaling light

I wrap my pain with love

to let go of hurt

in the exhale

Feeling the breeze take away my worry

along with the “why’s”

as each  breath brings me closer to

 everything I understand

and all the things I never will

Poetry Prompt http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/11/13/daily-prompt-this-is-your-song/

Taken from the song

Where Time Stands Still

Mary Chapin Carpenter

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for your tender touch

whispered across my skin

each kiss

a caress

breathing me back to life


to hear your voice

hold my name in the tremble of desire

to feel your moans mingle with mine in the back of my throat

as want becomes need

to be with you

on you

in you


I am forever


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In silence

 I feel him wind through me

his words

  his laughter

like a breeze across my soul

 I wonder then

Is he is thinking of me

 does he feel my touch of thought 

 can he feel my love spill colors of light into him

  merging our souls into prisms that dance with breath

 guiding us separately down a path we share together

I feel him

Does he feel me?

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Photo: My own

The weight

an empty bench carries

memories of yestedays sunsets shared


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Photo: My own

I set out for my run first thing this morning right after walking my dog.   My music loaded, I walked between houses to the neighborhood behind mine for a change of pace. The heavy torn clouds covered the whole sky  with sunlight trying to break through and if I wasn’t surrounded by palm trees I could almost imagine winter’s first flurries falling from them.  I began running to the music through the development each step hitting the pavement to the latin rhythm when I was struck suddenly by a defeating thought. I can’t even pinpoint now as I write this what it was, only that my anticipation of a great run became filled with dread as my own mindscape mirrored that of the sky.

Tears began to rim my eyes as my pace slowed from a jog to barely a walk. I began to head for home, noticing my feet had become as weighted as the clouds above me but then thought what for. To cry? To write? To wallow again in unexplained emotion when the day is so beautiful?  Turning myself around, I left the neighborhood of cookie cutter homes with manicured lawns and headed for the street. Placing my ipod in my pocket, I listened instead to the blaring horns of  the impatient and the crackling hum running the length of the wires overhead.

As I passed the grocery store, barely 10 AM, I could smell fried chicken and curiously enough Giorgio, the perfume my mother wore when I was in my teens. Well, she didn’t wear Giorgio actually, but the knock off version called Primo. It’s amazing how scents allow you to time travel. I haven’t spoken to my mother in over a decade. Our last exchange was her telling me what a failure I was as a daughter, a sister, a wife, an employee and most of all a mother. I was none of those things…a failure in any of those areas. It was merely something she said to hurt me. It still hurts, especially now when I feel that I have let down everyone close to me and I wonder now if perhaps she was right all along.  I disappointed her all my life merely because I was a breathing reminder of the biggest mistake she had ever made in her life. I am sure that if abortions had been legal in 1962, she would have had one instead of me. I almost wish she had and spared us both the pain.

I sat on a bench outside the grocery store and let the tears fall with the memories. She kicked me out at 16 to live with my father whom I barely knew, it was a relief to be out of the house I was imprisoned in. A house in which I could do nothing right, where every little pleasure was taken from me as a form of punishment. Not much different than my home now.  One filled with rooms of unspoken, knowing if one speaks of what matters, the cracks will break and no one is quite ready for the catastrophy that will follow. So the hurt and resentments clutter the house along with stacks of bills, fishing lures. Dust settles on photographs of happier times, although looking back I wonder if I really was happier then or just too busy to know I wasn’t.  I began to laugh through the tears knowing that I am at a crossroads, wondering what would lie ahead if I left, would I find a love I am worthy of or live alone?  If alone, how much worse could that be than being alone in a marriage.

The cool November wind dried my cheeks of tears as I walked home. I smiled feeling the breeze blow my through my long hair, as if to console me. I watched an older married couple as they held hands walking to synagogue. How nice it must be for them to remain that close after years together. I struggled to remember the last time my hand was held and I knew then that if I chose to stay, I may never know what that is like again.  It’s not about growing old with someone really, it’s about staying young with someone.

I passed an anhinga on the pond on the way home, wings outstretched as if ready to take flight yet doesn’t. I smiled recognizing myself wondering when I will shift my strength in holding on to letting go … to fly

Internet photo

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