Category Archives: Poetry

The Leaky Brain

Winter Sunrise

Winter Sunrise

Seeking Light’s clarity
Waitin for the grey sky
Dawn to erupt and distract.
Once again, to see brown
Branches reaching and birds
Flying out of the tangle.
In drab winter, look up.
Changing color every second
Blues above, red, orange,
Yellows on the horizon
Clouds changing configuration
Moving in unseen wind
Startling, unique forms
As if every sunrise is new.

One Day, One Minute

Daisies

Daisies

December made way for January
overnight.  The temperature fell,
celebrations ended just as a long
winter month began. Inside, the tree
is drooping. The smell of butter
cookies lingers underneath the New
Year’s roast. It is time for the cold
to coat the land frosty white and wind
to whip stiff branches that, like bones,
rattle as they swing. Yet, today is one
minute longer than yesterday.

Happy New Year!

 

Journey To The Heart

The Verrazano Narrows Bridge.

The Verrazano Narrows Bridge.

How to get ready?
What is needed? What
can be left in the closet?

I would like to leave the scars at home. The tough skin designed to protect from further damage can get very heavy. Not possible. The scars travel with me. I can leave false friendships. That will certainly lighten the load. I have to take love but that won’t be easy to carry. It’s so very fragile, so prone to fading and fraying. I must be cautious. Luckily, memories are stowed in the mind and, though weighty to someone like me who has lived decades, they travel compactly. I will take the self-confident look, the friendly smile, the understanding that comes from long life. Although anxiety and sadness and fear are coming, I am packing them in travel size bottles that meet Transportation Security Administration requirements.

Meeting In The Morning At A Coffee Shop

Coffee Shop

Coffee Shop

Mostly in the early morning, the smell of coffee reminds me of my childhood home.  Memories burst into consciousness and feelings of well-being and the excited anticipation of starting a new day come flooding back.  There is melancholy attached.  Those day are gone. Then, a phone call, a voice I couldn’t place and you were back. My dear friend, my first love. More memories pulled from the long distance of time–Ice skating on a moonlit night, sitting on the front steps of my house talking for hours, walking to the top of the park and looking out at the view of Brooklyn and Manhattan. How fitting that we should meet again to reminisce in a coffee shop where the smell of coffee is strong, part of the fabric of the place, where sweet pastries adorn the glass cases like the pastels of flowers in springtime paintings.

On Location–Friday the 13th

image

This day in mid-November
is one of Nature’s cruel days.
The sun rose over a monotone
gray sky like lethal gas looking
to descend on us.  Instead,
a cold drizzle falls hitting
my face like pin pricks.
The constant wind is enough
to pull the remaining color
from trees to littered ground.
Occasionally, a bird flies
through the heavy air
and landing on a bare branch,
turning its head, it surveys
the scene and takes off.

At The Edge Of The Woods

At the edge of the woods.

At the edge of the woods.

Today I find myself in a familiar place. Familiar as in state-of-mind familiar. Although I have walked through forests, looked down onto the tree-lined sides of mountains, noted the absence of shade trees by the shores of the Atlantic Ocean and watched the sunrise over the Cypress Trees in Tuscany, I’ve never been here standing at the edge of this densely wooded, dark forest before.

Yet, as I face this wall of thick tree trunks, I know which path to follow.  I’m used to being alone and I’m comfortable with new experiences.  I’m confident that this day, this walk will be filled with wonders unique to this place.  So, I’ll continue on into the woods accompanied by curiosity and loneliness.