The gentle breeze beckons me
to come outside and feel its kiss
My cheek is warmed by the sun.
The soaring birds make my heart swell
The peak of summer
long days and warm nights
has just passed us by
The green weeds and grasses
hold tight to their roots
as they reach toward that sky
We all feel the embrace
of a late summer’s day
The moon wanes more each day
The dark sky - the opposite of today’s
bright sometimes harsh illuminating sun -
prepares us all for what’s next
Darker, longer nights
Do not mourn for what has passed
Each stage and phase
the natural order of things
We would not appreciate the greenery,
the long sunny days
if we didn’t know
the dark nights of autumn’s sky
The leaves blaze
like a fire against the backdrop of blue
And I am grateful for this beautiful day
Tag: summer
Patchwork
Patchwork of clouds
thread, thread, thread
pink, orange marmalade
light blue and a gray hue
Summer June bugs buzzing in my ears
left to right
hidden from sight.
An end of summer soiree
Easily missed
if shut indoors.
A serene scene
unseen
when we get lost
in our screens.
At nightfall
At nightfall we run with abandon.
We feel alive and invincible,
unaware of our own fragility.
Walking on a wire, we coax that
necessary bravery
to balance the task and the act.
At nightfall we run with abandon.
The amusement rides lit up and flashing
Old relics of a bygone era
Still functioning with a dated beauty.
The blossom disappears underfoot in the dark.
I try to save it and place it in my pocket
for protection, for safekeeping,
unaware that my own reckless abandon
could still crush it as my heart beats in my chest.
Laughing and playing,
Feeling alive and free.
I plucked that blossom.
Some beauty spoke to me.
A language that you were mine
for the taking.
And I acted on that urgency.
At nightfall we run with abandon,
not knowing what tomorrow brings.
How flashing lights were to sparkle never again.
How fun summer nights were limited.
Childhood seems so random.
Our family, so random.
The choice is not ours.
And we grow up together
Awkward in our adult-shaped bodies.
Our minds want to stay light.
To play with reckless abandon,
not knowing how short one life is
compared to the next.
Summer past
The last warm weather of summer has passed. It’s in the rearview mirror and it’s slowly disappearing behind the horizon as we march toward November. Ever longer nights, the colors once so bright will soon fade too. It’s a natural thing and a reminder that all is well. Even if I have to let go or hold on til the bitter end. The natural order says so and I am just a lucky-enough player on the field to notice. I grow. I shine. I let go. And I can pick up the broken pieces if I want to. Gather what I need. Or just surrender, relax, be quiet like the snow blanketing the earth. It’s a natural thing. And I am a part of nature. And so it is.
When all the Jens turn 50
Generation X Generation post-punk And bands with big hair and even longer ballads. Roller skates and Hot summer nights with no A/C. Curling irons, crimping irons and Aquanet. Beetlejuice, Heathers, Freaks and Geeks, Kevin Smith movies and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Nightmare Before Christmas and Grunge. The Cure on stage Robert Smith holding my hands; Such gratitude and connection to his fans. When all the Jens turn 50, Does that mean we now run the show? We make our own rules. We speak our minds. We still wear T-shirts from our favorite bands Some of the lucky ones still touring. When all the Jens turn 50, We will have gained so much wisdom and insight No longer timid and shy Filled with such doubt and lacking self-assurance Will we ever fit in? When all the Jens turn 50, Generation X has turned the tide. The sun and moon know our true age As we dance around the musician’s stage. From one Jen to another, who has not yet turned 50 In loving memory to my first real friend, Jennifer Lopes (Brink) , who would have turned 50 this year.
Outside the Door
The soft earth awakens. Fresh dewdrops cling To the blades of grass, To my picnic table, To the windows of my car. Outside the Door The sun has begun Its ascent above the skyline. And its rays begin To splay upon the horizon. In the beginning, Where did man lie down his head each night? Did the morning dew greet him Each sunrise as he awoke? Did he sleep under the stars, In the open air, Or did he seek shelter most nights? The earth is soft and lush. Outside the Door The heat of the summer Has already begun to take ahold. The breeze is my reprieve. The birds are my companion. As we share a moment In the early dawn Before the sunrays get too bright And I, too, must take shelter From the blazing sun.
Summer in the ’90s
In the third floor apartment Overlooking the street and cars below With my notebook and pencil in hand, I nestled in to meet the muse And be inspired. I had no space of my own. Just a single-subject notebook, Wire bound and lined, With the words, “Oceanography” or “Psychology 2” in large penned letters On the pastel front cover. It was my private, personal space To journal, to explore my feelings, Writing poetry As a teenager with no money And nowhere to go. So I traveled in my mind. I devoured books by VC Andrews And Stephen King. The stories and characters swirled around in my head. I often dreamed of a tropical paradise, An escape, a place of solitude and independence. I adorned my wall with a huge poster of an idyllic palm tree. That poster became my view. There is no breeze to be felt From the window When you’re on a top bunk In a small room I shared With my younger sister. I took those bored, hot summers And transformed them the best I could. Looking back, I was laying the framework on what it means to be inspired. And now I’m never bored.
Bloom into JOY
The succulent fruit hangs from the peach tree just waiting to be plucked. With just a small amount of force the branch gives way its bounty. A tight snag Then a snap with release. The shape is like a little sun A glowing orb cupped in my hand. The orchard is full of these golden jewels. A bounty of sweet joy. A little green leaf left its mark on the flesh with a little shade from the rays. The rays gave it nourishment And now I jubilantly hold It close to me. I smell its fuzzy soft skin and take a bite. Oh, succulent ripe peach! Its juices no longer contained and they release out with the scent of summer and promise. And the creative potential to alchemize into something more than a mere glowing orb on a tree just waiting for the right passerby to bring its gifts into fruition. What seemed impossible to the little blossom when the sun whispered, “You are more than what you seem. You just wait and have faith.” And I’m at awe to see It bloomed into joy.
Healing Insights 