Winter

photo by Eric Alder

photo by Eric Alder

In mediocrity, there’s complacency,
an uneasy sense of non-urgency.
Thick as molasses, dragging my ass off;
a self-made Hades, I can’t seem to cast off.

Chills up my spine creep into my mind,
freezing thoughts in space and time.
I wish they ran smooth, warm and collected
like shells on a beach that’s connected

to the birth of a race, our humble beginnings.
I think I’ll return, start planning my trip and
when I arrive, dive deep in the waters;
find calm and peace in something that matters.

For right now, purpose all but eludes me.
Long winter nights hardly amuse me.
Mundane tasks bear down like a mass.
Three more months? Don’t think I can last.

The Trick and Its Treats

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Characters in line, yet    s c A t t e R e d,
donning new costumes and knocking on doors

for tryouts
and interviews

while I stand at the curb,
peeking between fingers and trembling;

watching them reach for treats, not knowing
if the front porch light is on or off.

“I didn’t make it,” she cried.  My breath lodged
in my throat, knowing that this is real life (BOO!)

and she must feel it for all it is
because the alternative is worse –

high or low, smoked or sniffed,
emotional shut-down; silent behind
thick circles of black eyeliner.

They tell me not to quit five minutes before
the miracle happens and so, I tell her,

and she doesn’t.

And neither does he, as we see him
every night now, and at weekend games.

The trick: God’s perfect timing.

So grateful for blessings received this week. My daughter made a select volleyball team and hubby got a new position at work that cuts out his night and weekend hours. Thanks to Eric for the photo prompt.

At the Threshold of Life and Death

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photo prompt from Eric at Bifocal Univision

Standing at the narrow end of a tunnel,
where the bright light should be, that’s
where you’ll find me, wondering why the air is dark.

Bony tendrils poke out into the light,
their thin skin singeing with each prod.
I keep my distance just right –

teasing death

like the licking of lips before a forbidden kiss,
making it long for the taste of my last breath –

a high like no other.

Building Blocks – a poem

To Be Built

I believe we are given
the exact amount of bricks we need
to build a life worth living
when we are born.

Through the years,
our parents may chip a few,
and we will certainly drop a couple,
sometimes on our own feet!

We may throw one (or two),
out of anger or spite,
and watch as they hit the ground
and break apart.

We may toss some in the dumpster
or leave some behind when we move,
thinking they aren’t important enough
or not worth the trouble to keep.

Others may steal a few from us
or we may give several away,
when we shouldn’t.

But the bricks are there…
each one needed to construct the life
our Creator intended for us to have
is somewhere. Together, let us build.

photo prompt courtesty of Eric at Bifocal Univision

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