Just sharing a few poems…
Sailing at Seventy
Sailing swiftly on the waves at seventy,
Under midnight skies,
Rocking back and forth—always moving forward.
While aging, silver streaks of hair with wisps of golden threads,
Blow behind me, synchronizing with the constant, whistling winds,
Glowing in the twinkling light of moon and stars,
I’m listening to the songs of rhythmic, steady tones of lapping waves,
While reaching up to touch and hug the moon and stars, embracing them completely.
The sole proprietress of the moon and stars—a preposterous delusion—
but feels so good,
replete with memories of other fleeting, naïve moments from the past,
Of the calming, energizing, light of moon and stars,
in winter’s past and distant desert days,
caressing my tears and cries.
The moon and stars,
While obviously not my own,
Belong to all throughout the world,
Who gaze and see and hold—
A far more generous, honest thought.
At this moment of serenity,
Void of cacophonous storms—
of crashing clouds and thunder and huge streaks of lightning,
Without feelings of obliteration and pain,
I feel whole, having grabbed the moon and stars—
at least for one more precious moment—
never knowing, if or when, it will be my very last.
Purple Black Heavens
As a child,
On Saturday nights,
I used to sit in my big old green easy chair,
My legs draped over the thick leather arms.
I looked out my large picture window at the tall old oak tree
And watched the large yellow moon, and wondered,
‘What if the world were never meant to be?’
‘What if there were no stars,
In the purple, black, heavens?’
‘What if there were just utter darkness?”
I was scared
But never thought to share my fears.
Now, as I recall those quiet moments,
So many years ago.
I am glad that I am not a part of the world
That as a little girl,
I imagined might have been,
Void of life—and light,
Of the stars and moon and sun.
Orange Red Waves
Last night, standing at the ocean’s edge,
I saw a mirage of you, my love,
Returning from afar on the distant moonlit waters.
The black, white-capped waves rushed higher up the shore.
My heart pounded hard.
I called out to greet you,
But only heard my echo.
Torn by bitter dreams and hopeless illusions,
I cried out loud, at my loss.
But the chimes only mingled
With the moaning, weeping, whining wind and waves.
The moon’s light faded and was
Swallowed up by lapping waters.
At dawn, the gold sun cast a strange and eerie orangey-red light
On the waves of the sea.
The beach and rocks lay barren.
No boat was cast ashore
No footprints on the sand other than my own.
Only bits of long snake-like strands of seaweed,
Empty clam shells and scattered driftwood,
evidence of the rise and fall of the tide,
But not of your return.
Sunlit Cocoons
As I get lost in my memories,
I see a cluster of beautiful white silk cocoons,
Bathed in golden sunlight, resting on puffy, white clouds
Against a gentle, pale turquoise sky.
The cocoons are airy, light and hollow.
The caterpillars once resided inside,
Sharing gentle faces,
But are no longer there.
They, like me, were once trapped within,
No way out, nowhere to go,
Kept within the dark, without sunlight or fresh air.
Having blind faith, never knowing, for sure,
If they would come out alive and in what form,
But they experienced their metamorphosis.
The caterpillar’s hard work paid off.
They emerged free from their prison walls,
Of tightly wrapped threads of silk,
as heroic, beautiful, butterflies
To fly in fields and woods and make a life of their own.
For years, I too hid within my cocoon,
afraid to emerge.
I was afraid that my life looked pretty and soft and gentle on the outside,
But nothing was on the inside,
That all my efforts would be to no avail,
That my life was empty.
Finally, I experienced my metamorphosis.
I am one those of butterflies
With exquisite patterns of
Florescent greens, blues, purples, magentas, yellows and oranges
Who has set herself free.
Now, I see the cocoon, separate from me
With the perspective of time.
I wish I could take a photograph
Of the beautiful soft, silk cocoons,
Bathed in the golden sunlight,
Resting on puffy white clouds
But I can’t.