Nov 27
poem 1 comment challenge: Rain


I twirl in the many tiny drops
pouring from high above
that bounce and hop
to the ground

The rain brings the landscape to a blur
to form a peace and quiet in
the steady whir
of the rain tumbling down

I breathe the crisp wet air
I feel the rain on my back
I feel the wind in my hair
I feel like I am finally free

The house with its bright
arrives all too soon
Nov 27

The Maple Out Back

She stretches tall,
the maple out back.
Grandpa told me that
she's stood there since the dawn of time.
I'm not sure if I beleive him.

In her branches
I have found myself,
alone up there
with her swaying tales
told by the flitting of the leaves.

I can see the world.
As far as it goes
in all directions.
I once saw the sun timidly
peek its head over the dark horizon.

Mom gets scared when I climb up high
because I fell out of our backyard
spruce last summer and broke my wrist,
but I know that the maple
would never let me fall.

I have found friendship
in the bugs and squirrels and critters
that scuttle about in her trunk
and limbs.
Funny things they are.

In the spring she always
lets us
borrow her clean trickling sap
to boil down in the shed
for maple syrup.

We planted a sappling

Nov 27

dancing on a white picket fence

I saw her
when she was
dancing on a white picket fence.

The sunlight dappled her
autumn hair and the freckles on her nose
as she twirled in the breeze.

Closed eyes
while the melody
played on her skin.

Her feet knew the way
like they had been dancing
for a thousand years.

A daisy
flipped behind her left ear
as she swayed, skipped, and jumped.

The world was far away
for her
frozen behind her in time.

But the moment ceased
as a car horn blew
and she was gone when I turned back.

I used to return looking for
the girl on
the white picket fence.

But now that fence is gray,
the paint is gone,
and it is lonely.

But, maybe someday
a girl will return to dance
on that white picket fence.
Nov 27

I Like

  • I like when the pool parts around your momentum forming a silent vortex of possibility.
  • I like the smell of baking chocolate chip cookies that wafts through the house specifically to find my nose (almost as much as I love eating them!)
  • I like the smooth Thanksgiving chocolate moose my grandma makes.
  • I like the way it looks outside when a still, unmarred white blanket coats the world.
  • I like the sound of warm summer rain knocking on the cabin roof.
  • I like the way it feels to be buried under a wall of sixteen blankets that keep out the creeping cold of December nights.
  • I like when anything could be behind the curtain of darkness.
  • I like the sudden “blarp” a saxophone makes when you blow too hard.
  • I like running my hand over a thousand spilled beads on the wooden floor.
  • I like the moment on the chairlift when time seems to stop because your breath has not melted the perfect contrast of a white snowflake on you
Nov 27
poem 2 comments challenge: Say

The Things I Don't Remember

I don’t remember if the wind whistled.
Do you?
I don’t remember if the birds cried.
Do you?
I don’t remember if the trees spoke.
Do you?

I don’t remember if I could hear the cold.
Do you?
I don’t remember if I could smell the snow.
Do you?
I don’t remember if I could taste the air.
Do you?

I don’t remember if I did something.
Do you?
I don’t remember if you smiled about it.
Do you?
I don’t remember if it hurt.
Do you?

All I remember the look in your eyes while you watched the red, the red that you had caused, drip down my face.
Do you?