I have risen above thinking your heart
worthy of my thoughts -
your outdated image of me
can never contain truth
because you call stagnation comfort.
I have risen above sharing darkness with you;
the sun moves with a predictability
you cannot muster,
during day or night.
I have risen above accepting your hands
as worthy of being called safe;
I have learned how it should feel -
when hands touch with love.
Green leaves trembling in the wind,
flashing pink, yellow, and thorns,
smiling at how resilient we had become.
Roots entwined with the fate of those rocks,
our lumps of enduring granite.
We knew we belonged there.
Flashing pink, yellow, and thorns,
smiling with sea spraying
and sun sparkling in our eyes,
on our shells,
and green leaves
trembling in the wind.
We all were roses.
a poem about home
after seven years away,
I find the Tasselled Pines still provide shelter,
the wit present in each chat
embodies a love not chilled by time.
home, where it all began,
where Hope is forever being Restored.
although a row of Dirigo Maples
divides one land from another,
tenacity lives in the wind,
freely dwelling, mending,
just as the ocean waves
to each inhabitant.
hearts along these shores
continue to be Wells of Hope,
though some rocks in the bay will crumble
when erosion tests their endurance,
the ocean always builds anew;
she still writes poetry.
a poem about having expectancy not expectations.
we are waves tumbling into shore,
living at different tempos,
arriving in our own time.
when we reach the sand
may we be grateful
of the opportunity that awaits;
may we dance in tide pools,
embrace each shell.
may we not succumb to bitterness
that the salt spray
is our constant companion,
but find in one another
reason to celebrate.
become departure points
until we arrive again,
each in our own time.