Oct 20
H20.hollym's picture

Dear Nama

Dear Nama,
I prefer not to think of the day
when you aren't there to scold me 
for eating the cookie dough,
or worrying about pointless things.
To rub my shoulders
when I need a break
and pull me along
to walk the fields with you.

But the truth surfaces
with every one of your off-balance steps
that yank your hand from mine,
taking you from me
for just
a moment.

I know you have a while left,
I see it when you jump over
the ocean waves blundering towards us.
The always knock you backwards
a few more feet than me.
You always make up the distance,
a smile on your face.

Those few feet
have made me think,
Nama.
About when you won't
make up the distance,
when you won't return,
when you won't take
any more footsteps.

I have contemplated what I should do
to settle the ache in my heart 
Oct 18
poem 4 comments challenge: Color
H20.hollym's picture

The Obliteration of Gray

Blurred lines,
the in-between.
All of us are familiar with
the gray zone.
I searched Google for specification,
for clarity on the unclear.
I received the following:
"An intermediate area between two opposing positions;
a situation, subject, etc.,
not clearly or easily defined,
or not covered by an existing category or set of rules."
-The Oxford Dictionary

So,
to answer your question,
if I could implode any color into nonexistence,
gray would be gone.
In an instant.
Because if gray flew off the face of the earth,
my constant deliberation,
pain and frustration,
would disappear with it.
I am constantly trying to shove
puzzle pieces of myself
into one labeled category or another,
but I never fit.

I know that this will remain the way
the tears will stream down my face
forever.
Wouldn't it just be easier
if everything were either
Oct 12
H20.hollym's picture

To The Eye

To the eye,
I am
grandfather's faded
gray socks
that have been worn for decades
You are
vibrant trends on display
for all to see
in the glossy pages
of magazines.

I am
creased with lines
like the page in a book
that has been folded over
too many times.
You are
freshly picked strawberries
just harvested and 
doused in fresh water.

I am
speckled,
littered with brown spots
like an overripe apple.
You are
flawless,
like the glassy surface
of the lake 
in summertime.

To the eye,
I know I can never compare.
But on the inside,
we both know,
recognize,
appreciate,
and love each other
as equals.



 
Oct 12
H20.hollym's picture

To The Eye

To the eye,
I am
grandfather's faded
gray socks
that have been worn for decades
You are
vibrant trends on display
for all to see
in the glossy pages
of magazines.

I am
creased with lines
like the page in a book
that has been folded over
too many times.
You are
freshly picked strawberries
just harvested and 
doused in fresh water.

I am
speckled,
littered with brown spots
live an overripe apple.
You are
flawless,
like the glassy surface
of the lake 
in summertime.

To the eye,
I know I can never compare.
But on the inside,
we both know 
recognize,
appreciate,
and love each other
as equals.



 
Oct 09
H20.hollym's picture

The Raindrops of Frozen Time

Cars roar past us, 
blithely charging through the massive puddles
Water sprays,
quick and sharp.
A burst of sound
ever repetitive
with the passing vehicles.
Underneath it lies the 
pouring of the rain,
a steady expulsion of air
from hushed lips.
The beat to which it all moves
is none other than the
squelching rythym 
of our shoes slapping 
the pavement.
The tumultous clamor
invaded our eardrums
long ago.

A car blunders past, 
and time hangs
for a second
anticipating 
the next loud invasion.
But it never comes.
We remain there,
frozen.
The beat of our shoes persists,
but now the continous turning of my legs
is that of the pumping wings
on a butterfly.
My breaths come fast,
fluttering through the still neverending air.
I inhale, expanding my rib cage
and spreading my palms
to bask in the raw raindrops
Oct 05
H20.hollym's picture

Inspirational Rarities

The people who most inspire me are…

The ones whose smile flits onto their face at the slightest appearance of happiness,
the ones who unapologetically radiate their light throughout the room at every occasion,
the ones who drip with the raw power of vulnerable authenticity,
the ones whose arms open warmly without a conscious thought,
the ones who act as if everything in the world deserves to be treated with compassion,
the ones who don’t ever spare a glance at what others are doing,
the ones who obviously live purely in their moments,
and if you happen to be in one with them,
don’t ever take it for granted.

 
Sep 28
H20.hollym's picture

Sunset

What is it about you
that draws every being in?
It's as if you have all of us on strings,
tethered to your magic.
No other sorcery 
than purely existing.
The human transfixation
with beauty
does all of the work.

Please,
grace me with your heavenly presence.
Share with me your secrets,
whisper them into my ear.
I won't tell anyone,
I promise.
My lips are sealed
for you.

We are all yours,
yet the true beauty is that you deserve it
because you remain humbly oblivious.



 
Sep 21
H20.hollym's picture

Above The Radar, Burlington VT

An amazing mural done by 30+ local graffiti artists, down by the Lake Champlain Ferry on the Waterfront in Burlington! I totally recommend checking it out! It is very cool to see messages and ideas conveyed through creation and left up for interpretation through art, very powerfully pushing to expand and grow our society.
 
Sep 21
H20.hollym's picture

An Ode to the Apples

Dearest Apples,
The rulers of all fruit,
every autumn you grace us with your appearance,
and we hold gratitude as abundant as you are
in our big Vermont hearts.
Mine maybe holds more gratitude than most.
I'm not quite sure you realize what you mean to me.
Oh, apple, my first word.
You have been there since the beginning,
since I was just a seedling.
And as I grew, 
I marked each passing year 
with a trip to no other heaven 
than the apple orchard 
on my birthday.
First thing I would go on the giant swing
and fly through the crisp, fall air
knowing I was going to be on top of the world
for the next four hours.
I clambered through mounds of scratchy hay
and ate cider donuts while the bees buzzed around
all of the sugar that had fallen into my lap.
But the best part of all
was when we would set out with big empty bags
and bursting hearts.
Sep 20
poem 4 comments challenge: Peace
H20.hollym's picture

Beautiful

You may accept her as she is,
for she is fully whole as she dances among the flowers.
She tied her ribbons around herself
that stream and twirl no matter 
if the wind may happen to be blowing.
She is her perfections, 
and her flaws, 
all garnished with rainbow ties.
Her grace is that of the wind.
It may shift or stumble,
but all love it for what it is.
She knows that whether she is received the same way
is irrelevant.
The sunlight shines upon her petals,
and she provides the magnifying glass
to kindle it into a flame.
Her courage is infinite,
for now she may remain completely vulnerable,
but she is
unbreakable.
Her vase may shatter,
but her soul of handpicked flowers
cannot.
Her peace is as endless as the oceans,
for she holds the burning flame,
and as she lets her light shine,
she gives others
an ember
to do
the same.

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