walking down streets
midnight to morning
the coolness and quiet
comfort the calamity
sometimes there’s a break
where all becomes unraveled
streetlights stop humming
and sidewalks lose their way
comfortable comfort
step starting soliloquy
i’m gonna keep going
poets note: each day the grief subsides and shimmers… she becomes farther and farther as she steps away… yet she’s not left at all.
sunday whirl : wordle 232
there’s not much left
a small loss here
a slap that stings there
angels watching
shiver from the cold
some days pass
with little pause
counting scars
instead of stars
there’s so much to remember
love gasps at sleeps escape
desire dials a different dream
darkness snare gathers no dust
notes to self: the real dark side of family and the holidays … thank goodness all has passed…
the characterization of possession
brings boxes of materials
hidden in one’s soul out into the perceivable
till the bang of bringing it home
creates an aperture
Sifting through one another
The empty spaces settle and open wide
Enabling one to peer inside
And observe all there is to us
lifting layers paradise emerges
and the distance becomes ubiquitous
giving more room to the happy sounds
of love and take harmonizing
and then there’s you
where what you thought isn’t there
triggering a low spark of reflection
and firing a loud sound of a sparrow’s sorrow
coming back you find the
gold and silver threads of
lost and found entwined
unaware of your intrusion
making happiness float once again
soon the heart of passing stumbles
and when all is expressed
and silence turns over
one can peek through and satisfy
a questionable answer to our existence as one
over at we write poems prompt no 200 entices the writer with the mystery of brothers and sisters … entitled prompt “The Mystery of a Gun” …. having four sisters and a brother I tried not to jump too quickly into the waters of yes and no….
rebecca’s friday recuerda mi corazon [haiku my heart]
photo: clouds1920, ImageShack.us
born between four sisters
two this way two that way
the best of bookends
digesting white clouds above
we lost life’s bitter aftertaste
…as kids we used to lay on our backs and watch the clouds pass by for hours… life was hard but we had each other to hold onto when it became unbearable… to my sister gogi who laughs at all my jokes… she so gets me…
every friday love unfolds at rebecca’s recuerda mi corazon [haiku my heart]
photo: pinto beans, basswulf, flickr
cleaning pinto beans
mom’s echoing voice caress
posole soup spark
makin posole, making enchiladas, and making not even close to my moms tortillas brings back the spirit of my mom so sweet…. the whole process. she use to make us girls clean the beans, always cleanin beans, and she’s making oh my god homemade tortillas…
Piece of Pie ala Mode 
