Memory...

How will I ever remember it all?
In my memory...a painting
My mind's eye, will it see?
How will I ever count, gathering it all?
In my heart...a warmth
My mind's eye, will it know?
How will I ever appreciate it all?
In my future...a promise
My mind's eye, it will breathe.

Four...

Meet me at four, please not a minute late
I would meet you at four, forever changing my fate
Meet me at four, my life with you I'll share
Crowds rushing by at four, I saw them but did not care
Meet me at four, all my secrets I've saved for you
So many strangers whispering at four, in them I search for a clue
Meet me at four, now don't forget, in time I'll tell you why
I waited at four and three hours more and it was all a painful lie

Glass...

Wine glass chandelier ~ The Winery at St. George

Reflecting what gazes upon it
Casting uneven shadows into every corner
Unwillingly left barren
Suspended ice

Hazy...

The night, a blur
Yet every moment, frozen
The lights, a shatter
Yet every vision, clear
The faces, unrecognizable
Yet every emotion, real
The air, intoxicating
Yet every breath, breathless

Beached...

Reaching too far, he turns his back on the life that was his
Seeking new adventure, excitement, the unfamiliar
Never looking back, he fights beyond the tides
That fateful plunge, leaves him longing for what he once had

Ready...

A row of hilts from handcrafted swords

Standing tall with pride
Aware of the job to be done
A silent focus
Motionless anticipation

Same...

Have the same pieces, have the same parts
Same, but different...why?
One to be admired for perfection, a work of art
Another, never a second look, just gets passed by

Have the same purpose, have the same mission
Same, but different...how?
One knows each piece, each element knows its position
Another, no voice, just a pile now

Have the same beginning, have the same end
Same, but different...true?
One stands proud, embraces each new day, to its boundaries it will tend
Another, boasts a weathered past, and reaches in directions anew

Diamond...

Gone is the grass
Gone are the players
Until another season
Until the fans return

Before the summer heat has passed
Before the children are grown
Welcome the voices
Welcome home

Weeping...

Weeping for what could have been...

Street side...

A view from the street doesn't tell one much about the stories shared inside
The memories created
The promises made and forgotten over time
The tears shed
A loving glance exchanged by candle light
An embrace offered
A view from the street keeps all these secrets, safely protected

Frost...

It meant to protect, gently resting
Engulfing
Trying to break free of the chilling clutches
Helpless
To a passerby, a coating, a layer, a protective shell
Innocent

White...

The road went on for miles
Winding until all sense of direction was lost
The landscape morphed into a sea of white
Encrusted trees gave no hint of life it had known

Joy...

Take time to remember what brings it to you
Take time to share it with one who needs it most
Take time to find it in the majestic and the minute
Take time to create it from deep within your heart
Take time to discover what IT is

A Grandmother's Touch...

My favorite ornament from my Babcia

A few years ago...five, to be exact
My Grandmother sent me a care package, lovingly packed
"For Christmas" it said..."Never too soon"
"For Christmas" it said...Christmas?  But it's only June!

I put the box aside to explore another day
I must have moved it a hundred times that summer, it kept getting in my way
The summer faded and soon it was fall
To be honest, it had been awhile since I thought of that box at all

Goblin season and Thanksgiving came and went
I had written out all my Christmas cards and they too had been sent
Our tree had been readied and awaited some flair
Then I saw the box, it sat quietly in the corner, next to the rocking chair

I pulled it closer to see what it had in store
Tissue paper...I counted 14 layers or more
Nestled deep inside were mini packages, too many to count
I freed them from the depths of the box and started laying them out

Beaded ornaments, that's what my Grandmother had sent
"Before I'm too old, before my fingers get too bent"
She had fashioned beautiful ornaments as if knitting
"I made these while I was thinking...thinking and sitting"

I called my Grandmother and thanked her that day
I promised her I would use them to decorate our tree right away
Each year since then our tree has used more and more
And each year our tree looks even lovelier than the year before

My Grandmother passed away this summer, she was eighty-nine, plus three hundred, sixty four
And I knew when Christmas came, I would need to mourn once more
With every beautiful ornament I held and placed upon our tree
I remembered everything...my Grandmother meant to me

Mother Nature...

Nothing you can say will change her mind
She might seems brutal, often times, unkind
She loves fiercely with lashings and the next breath, gently caresses
Then skillfully changes direction with all the power she possess
Still you admire her, for her tangible beauty, her sound, her air
Hoping that she will find you worthy of the gifts she has to share

Out of place...

Living life, but a bit out of place
Others around, have given fair space
Aware of the differences, just not seeming to care
Forever growing, in this world we must share