“Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others, cannot keep it from themselves.”
— J.M. Barrie, 1890
I’ve touched places words can’t reside
places no descriptor can describe
I’ve touched God’s face in a dying man
I’ve felt His gentle, healing hand
I’ve seen peace descend from places unknown
onto the shoulders of those who felt alone
I’ve seen courage gowned, masked and gloved
I’ve witnessed faults, surpassed by love
I’ve carried the secrets my patients confide
to be buried in my grave, alongside
the privacies my eyes have beheld
that will never be exploited or revealed
I’ve held treasures in my hands
that only love would understand…
Ever since I can remember, Home has been more than a physical location to me. Home has been wherever I find the presence of the people I love.
But lately, I’ve come to think of home as a different type of dwelling. It has become more than my placement among family, friends, or loved ones. Home is what’s left when everyone else is gone. It’s where I dwell when I am alone. It’s the encasement that houses my mind, body, and soul.
Home is not a place from which I can run. If my home gets dirty, I can’t…
Light up, my tender soul
Let your heart rise and stroll
along the trail that sets you free
towards the pathway to the sea
Let yourself in moonlight shine
Ramble along the soft coastline
Feel the waves upon bare feet
rising and falling with each heartbeat
Look up, my gentle soul
Let all your troubles roll
off the shoulders of the shore
to settle beneath the ocean floor
Let your worries be released
Let your heart be soft in peace
Rise upon the pelican’s wing
Upwards to the sky, you spring
Let your soul ascend in flight
burden-free and feather-light
In a world draped in darkened veils
I tear the cloth and sew some sails
I glide towards the calmer seas
I drift towards a life of peace
In troubled times, I choose to believe
in the distant dreams, my future will bring
I choose to float atop the whitecaps, knowing
the shore is within reach, if I continue rowing
Hope is my schooner ship’s helm
that steers beyond the present realm
I navigate amidst the fog and haze
across the tips of raging waves
In a future uncertain and unclear
I elevate my hope above my fear
I choose to give…
There was so much sunshine last week that my roses bloomed in the shade!
The cover photo displays the top of a Don Juan climbing rose bush. Several years ago, I planted a small cutting in the shade. I propagated it for a friend, but she moved and left the rose bush. I decided to leave it in the shade. It climbs high enough for the top branches to reach the sun. It’s nice to have a few rose blooms in a full shade corner!
It serves as a reminder that if roses can grow in the shade, so can…
There once was a squirrel in a tree
A bird — he wanted to be
He had no wings
Nor could he sing
An unhappy squirrel, was he
Thank you for reading my limerick poem. This was fun to write, and the squirrel is a great muse! Squirrels have been feasting on the bird feeders all season.
Today I throw caution to the wind, and I go where I’ve never gone before — into the mysterious land of limericks. I submit to you my first attempt at this poetic form, laid bare before you, unfettered and raw. Feast your eyes, for you, will be the very first to set eyes upon this poetic masterpiece.
Side note: You might not be the actual first person to see this, because the editors of the publication will read it. And other people might read it, too, before you, if you’re late. The early reader catches the limerick.
Side note 2…
I’ve enjoyed mild weather in this area, and it hasn’t been quite as hot and humid this week.
For those who have been following my father’s health situation, his syncope continues. The bright side is that his condition hasn’t worsened. The kind thoughts and positive vibes from everyone here have been wonderfully encouraging. I’m very thankful for this incredible community of writers.
Grow wild and free
Let your spirit be
taken by the wind
Run fast and far
Let your spirit soar
skyward without end
Find a space in the soil
Spread your roots without toil
amongst the tangled weeds
Sow your seeds down deep
where the wind can’t sweep
your dreams away with the breeze
Thank you for reading my poetry.
Thank you, Weeds and Wildflowers, for giving this poem a place to flourish.
The cover photo shows flowers called, Plains coreopsis, a species of Tickseeds. I identified them using the “PictureThis” app. Thank you Dennett, for telling us about this…