Cushioned Steps

Each careful step
Across the floor
Cushioned by
Layers of history
What was once alive
Now protects as it
Deteriorates
Feeding the earth
Lying underneath
How many have
Come and gone
Taken these same steps
Across lines of
Time and space-
Did they notice
The Luna moth
Drying her wings
In frilly foliage
Of gentle ferns
Or the bright orange
Mushrooms
Peeking out from
Underneath
The fern leaves
Were their steps cushioned as well?
Steps that allowed
Time for pause
Time for soaking up
All the forest
Has to say
About the past
The present
And the future

Simply Sunday

Do We Truly See?

Today feels
Anything
But simple
It feels torn
I feel torn
Sunshine skies
In front of me
Clear and blue
A stark contrast
To the images
Of gray skies
Streets filled with
Ash and rubble
Seen on the news-
My mind knows
And history tells us
Not all people
Are free or safe
From the exploits
Of evil men
Yet, my heart
Is unable
To reconcile-
An image of
A Ukrainian mom
Her only thought
Protecting her family
From surrounding
Destruction and death…
I cannot know
The heaviness
Of her heart
Yet, I must not look away
Watching
Praying
For a glimmer of hope
A family reunited
While never
Forgetting
Images snapped
By cameras-
Images of death
And innocence stolen
For all the world to see-
Do we truly see?

Morning News

I sit quietly
In my house
This morning
Drinking hot tea
Watching the morning news
Never having experienced the kind of fear
That would cause me to flee my home
Searching for a place of safety
A shelter under the ground
Where explosions above
That will destroy my home
And those of my friends and family
Cannot reach my children
I don’t know that kind of fear
Not fear of natural disasters
Unavoidable depending on location
But fear of weapons
Created by man
Neighbor against neighbor
Strong overtaking weak
Seeking what?
Power and greed
Seem the most common answers-
I sit quietly
In my house
This morning
Unable to erase the image
Of a precious little girl
On the morning news
Her big eyes filled with tears
Hiding underground
Unable to block
The sounds of bombs
Exploding on the surface
Perhaps I should not try
To erase her image
Instead, let it sear into my memory
Reminding me to pray for light
To find her in that dark place

Freeze Frame

Pictures holding
History stored
In memory banks
Called to the surface
In a single snap
Of my fingers
Leaving me
Wondering
Why that?
Why now?
Why then?
Times I would
Like either
To forever
Forget or
Always
Remember
Each frame
Projecting
Enough
Power to
Push me into
A time-warp
Of emotions
Unless…
I slow down
Pay attention
Freeze
Each
Frame
Long enough
To grasp
This truth-
The past
Enriches
The present
Either by
Making me
Thankful
For changes
Grateful
For growth
Or content
With constants

Visit to a Cemetery

I stood
At the foot
Of a grave
Shaded by
Lovely birch
On a rolling
Green slope
Overseen by
A church
Painted white
Filled with
History on
Both sides
Of glass panes-
I stood
At the foot
Of a grave
Cradling remains
Of those gone
From this earth
Centuries ago
Memories
Carved
In marble
Beloved
Daughter, wife, mother
Honored
Son, husband, father
I stood
At the grave
Of a poet
My heart touched
By remembrances
Of persons
I have never met

Simply Sunday

Days

Enjoying
Art and
Nature
Exploring
Lessons
Offered
By history-
Our own
Others-
Reminiscing
Our combined
Years of living
In only seven
Of these
Precious
Allotments
Of time
Each holding
The same
Number
Of hours
Each passing
Too quickly

Ever-Changing

Standing
On the edge
Green grass
Underfoot
Cushioning
My step

Observing
Diamonds sparkle
On the water
Clouds float
In the sky
On the pond

Listening
Plop! Chirp!
Zip-Zap!
Frogs, birds
Dragonflies
And me

Waiting
As light shifts
Breezes blow
Enveloped in
This ever-changing
Landscape

What a beautiful day exploring Olana. Art, history, amazing views…and family. ❤

Possibilities

Eyes witness
The moon
In darkness
Eclipsed by
The shadow
Of Earth

Feet stand
On the surface
Of the moon
Looking back
At their blue
Marble home

Children explore
Past in present
Imagining future
Moon flights
Of their own
Anything is possible!

Today’s prompt was interesting-write a poem using at least one word/concept/idea from each of two specialty dictionaries: Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary and the Historical Dictionary of Science Fiction.

From the Classical Dictionary I chose the following fact: First eclipse of the moon on record 721 B.C.

From the second dictionary I chose the word moon flight.

For more info check out https://www.napowrimo.net/.

Hands

So much of life’s stories
Are revealed in our hands-
My Dad’s hands
Are rough, strong
Years of wood, saws,
Hammers and nails
The story of a carpenter
My Mom’s hands
Are softer, achy from arthritis
Years of cleaning, cooking,
Caring, calculating, typing-
The story of a working mom
What about my hands?
I know what my hands have done-
But what story do others see?
What story do my children see?
I hope the most important one-
Holding their tiny hands
As their story began

Granddaughter

Attended school until
The eighth grade
Not uncommon
For one born in 1923
Help was often
Necessary at home
Especially having
Elderly parents
Who needed care-
Married young
Babies came quickly
A full house of her own
But she was not
Uneducated as
Circumstances
Might suggest-
An avid reader,
Always a book in hand-
A thirst for knowledge
And meaningful conversations-
Needed to know the meaning
Or correct spelling
Of a word? The one to call-
I suppose you could say
She was self-taught-
If only I could
Call her right now
And tell her
How proud I am
To be called
Her granddaughter