Release

Where are you? I need you.
I’m trying to hold on to spring but I keep grasping thistles
So much has happened
Where do I take you first?

I found out that nobody was listening-
Not even the ones who pretended best
They only tolerated what I had to say but never understood
They seemed so sage but I just don’t get it.

I tried walking and reading and thinking
But you could have told me I should have done nothing
Something always comes from nothing
Like a flower or a dream.

So will you help me?
Can you guide my hand to something better
Guide my feet to cool waters
Take me where I should have gone before?

But lo they are calling me
Again with their words I can’t fathom
Their places so uniform and constrained
Maybe I can show them release.

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The Tedious Storm

I knew I’d I waited long enough when colors burst on the scene
I’d endured big talk from little minds
And waded through topics I didn’t want to understand
Reserves I hadn’t realized still existed carried me through on waves of words and polite smiles
And it took strength to hold back the gallons of anecdotes no one would want to hear
So I employed quiet as a rusty tool
And observed others as specimens in their own little jars
Each with their own solutions
And ideals
Are they really happy with their chit chat
Or do they secretly yearn for more
I just had to wait til the storm passed
To bask in the rainbow
But while they droned on
I felt heroic bearing the weight of tedium
Now I’m floating and relieved and alone.

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Hands

She looked down and noticed her hands looked older. There were a few lines and spots. She wondered when they had changed. She was sure they were smoother the other day when she held her daughter’s hand. Where had the time gone from when he first held her hand? Her hand had looked small and quickly sought his comfort. How often had she not even noticed as they worked every day in all sorts of conditions? Hot soapy water cleaning dishes. Folding warm fluffy clothes. Rooting through fresh earth in the garden. Lifting a child and holding him tight. Wiping tears. Rubbing her eyes to view a new morning. Preparing food every day. Holding a pen and writing. Clapping to appreciate a good show. She was told she used her hands too much when she talked. Garish gestures to try to help her poor choices of words? She was suddenly appreciatve for all the places her hands had helped her go. She wondered if they moved a certain way, maybe they would help her try new sensations, places, tales.hands

Lost Within

I thought I would be lost in the chaos
That I had to have order and precision and discipline
That all things had to be in neat rows
In order
Including my dreams
I had no idea that there is a beautiful tableau
When you just let go
That nature forms its own patterns
That we can live those exquisite swirls and lines

But I walked awhile all alone
And saw grasses blowing in a tempest
And water sluicing downhill over rocks
The wind and water drawing perfect lines over all they touched
The sky looked a tangle of clouds and the trees a blur of leaves
But I had no complaint
It looked like chaos
But I knew there were patterns
I just had to look differently

So I let myself float on possibility
Let words flow from my fingers
Embraced a little chaos
Saw lines unfurling in ways I had not predicted
The wind and water swirled
And I felt the strings loosen around me
Fewer tethers
And it was beautiful
And I was where I needed to be.

Idling

Such a lot of time spent idling
When the road will not stay put like you hope
We bemoan stagnancy and yet try desperately to hold to our comfort
So move already
Don’t think too much about it
Don’t worry about what you may become
Don’t look back over your shoulder too often
Just watch the road and if you leave it, take some care
Remember the route
To find your way across, along, beside, or around it.