Poetry lives here…

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I see poetry

in the way the clouds

slip past one another,

so smooth so quiet as

wisps of cirrus caress

soft cumulus.

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I see poetry in the new leaf,

miniature of what will unfold,

curled like a flower bud,

colour new-green-gold.

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Walking over wet sand,

calm glistens at my feet,

foam weaves in and out.

Reluctant water pulls away

as waves crash and shout.

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Poetry in my step

as I click on the slate,

walk in a rhythm,

hurry not to be late.

Swirls of wise stone,

variations on a theme,

atone for my days,

for all that was

not as it seemed.

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Walk the pain away,

walk poetry in its place:

send me softness of clouds,

send me flowers of lace.

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Today is the first day…

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It’s always a good day to write a love note, send a flower, hold a door, say hello, and smile.

With the hope that none of us doubts how much our simple acts of kindness and our caring words mean to others, I am passing along this exceptionally beautiful post from Free Penny Press:

 It’s called Mister.

Have a kind and happy day, everyone! I have missed you.

~ Lily

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P.S.: There is a poem for all of you poetry readers, previous post.

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Weaving.

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The spider web on the old wooden railing

is a loosely woven thing,

a few bumpy white strands,

around several times

only.

There are a handful of spokes,

nothing fancy,

all elaboration left

to other more detail-oriented arachnids.

This spider was working fast

or young and unskilled

perhaps.

Yet,

in the wind

blowing strong and cool upon me,

the web holds together

and I can see from those that are in

that it catches flies.

Though less detailed

then I have come to expect,

form simply follows function.

I feel reassured,

my life so

loosely woven itself,

yet it holds.

It holds.

I hold onto weathered wood,

searching for that spider.

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Glimpses …

.

Deep into the puddle

where reflections swim and lie

telling of another world,

I dream of entrance as I walk by.

The clouds in cirrus wisps

gently held in cerulean sky

invite me to their comfort

if only I could fly.

The sun in glow and gleam

such radiance, warmth and light–

I do recall that Icarus

regretted taking flight.

Waves and rush of ocean,

breezes and soothing of sea,

water of fury and depths

is like the depth of me.

So here on earth where reflections,

water, light, and sky,

give me fleeting glimpses of heaven

where beauty and peace reside,

I praise these bits of glory

in my humble earth-bound heart

and smile while gazing at splendor–

perhaps my ending, perhaps a start,

a jolting infusion of wonder

present in each and every day,

How bad can my life ever be

when miracles light its way?

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