writeaway

Write Away

SHE RISES

She's the kind of girl who can fall flat on her face
and still perfectly embody grace
because she gets up each time she falls.
Only knows how to walk, never will crawl.

She rises.
She rises to her feet.

She has her share of bruises and cuts,
but they're not weakness just signs she's tough.
She's not afraid to let it all hang out,
not afraid to scream and shout.

She rises to her feet.
She rises from defeat.

She's been knocked down a time or two,
but she knows just what to do.
Puts herself back upright
and turns her face to the light.

She rises to her feet.
She rises from defeat.
She can lose and still not be beat
because she rises.

MOVED

Flight flew out of the bird
and with it,
life.
From the heavens it dropped
to where I found it on Earth
in a green field at sunset.
I stood there with the sounds
of wings fluttering and birds chirping
as the breeze choreographed the waist high grass
into the most beautiful slow dance
I have ever seen.
The flock soared here and swooped there.
They moved as one—
this sort of feathered blanket
expanding and contracting and rippling
in the summer sky.
They moved.
Hundreds of birds flew high above my head
so full of life
and I was moved
by the one small bird
who lay still at my feet.

RELEASE

When sleep comes and settles
into the seams of your eyes
for the evening,
quietly sealing away
the chaos of the world,
I hope it opens up the doors
painted in red, yellow, blue, and green
to your similarly vivid dreams.
So that in sleep you are awakened
to the truth you have desperately stored
in a forgotten nook of your heart.
I pray you release yourself
and reach in then out
into the endless possibilities.
That you roam freely under
the forgiving starry sky,
tending to your spirit along the way.
And when you feel your body start to stir
I hope you gather your being back up
with open arms and return
to the boundaries of your body.
May you gently wipe the sleep from your eyes
and peer through your fluttering eyelashes
before welcoming the light of a shiny new morning.
Awaking with peace and thanks
to another day of the merciful mess
affectionately known as life.

DESCRIPTION

The man walks about with untied shoes
and wears no jacket in the bitter cold.
He knows the art of punctuation
and what a perfectly placed comma
will do to a person.
Drinks cheap vodka
like it's water,
literally pissing away his money.
He scratches himself
and never combs his hair.
He paints portraits of people
in their true colors as he sees them
and laughs at their reactions to his work.
He doesn't vote
or believe in politics
or even watch the news.
Can't swim or dance,
but still dives into the rhythm of the tide.
He speaks nonsense to please his therapist
and occasionally phones his mother.
Calls me woman,
not girl or young lady,
but woman.

The man is dangerous.

PERSEVERE

She sits in quiet solitude
sifting through her mind
for answers to questions
she has yet to find.
Searching in every last
fold of her brain,
trying to figure out
all that it contains.
She's waiting for something
meaningful and truly profound
to make its way to her
and turn her life around.
Because it's hard to know
what direction to take
when looking for life,
even if walking by faith.

But she can't stand still,
nor get lost in the moment
so she moves onward in her day
no longer willing to postpone it.
She doesn't have to make sense
of everything in one sitting
for she is positive that
in life there is no quitting.

IT WAS THEN

Your eyes took me in
and your hand traced
the outline of my body
on its way to my hand
and your lips parted ways
in order to smile
before coming back together
to meet mine.

You, darling, fully embraced me
in that brief span of time.

And it was then,
at that very moment
that I realized
I would be alone.

MY FIRST EVER POEM
5 years old - 1989

My heart starts beating...
The angels watch from above.
When the night is glowing,
the stars shine and
the moon starts to
wake up the night.
And when someone needs help,
I help them too.
I keep my heart beating.

For more poems please visit the ARTiculate{1} blog and check out the poem post label.

DESCRIPTION

PERSEVERE

IT WAS THEN

MY FIRST EVER POEM5 years old - 1989

MY FIRST EVER POEM
5 years old - 1989