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.
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.
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.