Poetry

An Open Window

I have had my eyes open to daily delights these past months.  They lift my spirits, change my perspective and stir hope.  May we open our eyes friends, to the sounds, the smells, the sights all around us and then simply give thanks, to the Maker of it all.

An Open Window

The window sits wide open,

curtains ruffle in the wind.

The breath of life is slowly drifting in.

 

The fluttering of wings,

joins chorus of a calling crow,

beating in time with chirps and coos.

 

The crackling of moving tires

A train horn far in the distance,

the rhythm of wheels on tracks.

 

The sound of someone mowing,

then the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass.

 

The delight of children’s treasure,

at a yard sale down the street.

 

I lay near the open window,

Closing my eyes, breathing in,

As the breeze tickles my feet.

 

I glory there for a moment

In the sounds and the smells,

You see, life is calling, to wake up once again.

Copy of Untitled

 

 

Poetry

Shower

This past weekend I attended baby shower of a dear friend’s daughter.  It was pouring rain as we each made our way to the shower, yet we made our way.  Women, young and old, gathered around  the new mother-to-be.  We brought gifts, love and encouragement, for both mother and daughter.  The gathering of women is a sight to behold.

Shower

Women walk, wearing easy summer dresses.

Rain falls, umbrellas open

sandals in puddles, gifts in hands.

 

Tables draped in linens, hold borrowed china,

flowers surround unlit candles,

fragrant in the warm summer air.

 

Women, young and old, have gathered,

lovingly their eyes rest on her swollen belly.

 

The women squeeze in tight

as water drips from canopy rims,

down backs, drops glisten on fallen hair.

 

A smiling watermelon hippo offers fruit,

chicken salad on croissants,

salads brought to be shared

 

Talking, laughing, the eating of cupcakes.

Ribbons are cut, guessing inches,

stories of mothers and babes linger in the air.

 

The women circle, lemonade in hand,

their eyes on the one becoming.

The gifts fall like the rain.

 

The birds sing in rhythm from treetops.

A soft breeze blows, leaves and balloons flutter

The sun peaks, as clouds roll away.

 

Wrappings tumble, glitter flies in the sun.

Full are the hearts

of the woman, who came in the rain.

Copy of Untitled