I escaped the news last week...

I Escaped the News Last Weekend

I escaped the news

last weekend, wanting a world

  with everything

set right; I returned to the

sleepy beach hideaway of

  my youth

Tumultuous waves

rolled over one other,

going nowhere really -

Cold rain slapped my face,

drops ran down my neck;

the wind meowed around me.

Unoccupied worn

cedar-shake homes welcomed me,

  the hamlet asleep,

but for a blurred red street light

The drive was well worth 

the time to capture 

one quintessential sunset, 

one to ride horses

straight into!

Unyielding dunes clung 

to sea grass. I breathed in so

deeply the salty sea air

Theoretically, my

fearful thunderous 

thoughts subsided and I felt 

beyond carefree.

Feet to a fire, a cup of

mulled apple cider 

added to the ambient quiet

Conceived of literature

and art in my heart,

I channeled Hemingway and

 Picasso; I wrote, sketched and

painted through the night 

Ultimately, 

I am taken aback how 

truly, I now see, 

birth overcomes death 

...every day

and I am the only one
in my way

This Friday is Open Link Night over at dversepoets.com   Click if you would like to read more poetry

from the group.

Much needed rain...

Rain rushes down slick streets,                                                                  

swirls into gritty drains,
oily grades of inky water -
cobalt blue, teal, pyrrol orange,
washing away,  
by product of many years; 
could be, from tiny aqueducts inside,
since childhood,  barrels
filled with cried tears -
from those of  a newborn,
multi-faceted tears of a child,
to those of teen angst years;
 'Something old,  something new' tears,
pink and blue ones unleashed
as births heralded

Guttural tears shed
in deep disappointment,

of misunderstandings unfounded,
 purple hued tears for bruises of the heart,
and the crueler kind,
 evolved to black and blue
 Presently a wiser gal,
common sense says she's through -
Bell weather forecasts more storms
seasons of tears and laughter 
yet to arrive,
alternating with blue sky
tears of the bereavement kind,
by far the most salty, refined
Amazingly, Grace makes these
supposedly easier to abide
History dictates no immunity,
so cry a river implies 
infinite  supply,
prolific reservoir system engineered 
to maintain, recycle, let go -
for tears can appear out of nowhere,
at the  dawning or ending of each  day

Strange I  feel 24 years old again,
at heart,  until I see 
the reflection in a window pane
Clearly not a kid anymore,
but what bubbles up emotionally
 is a desire to plan a  surprise party
for myself __ to celebrate the rain
I loved the rain when younger,
puddles and rain on my face,
boots and umbrellas (still do)
But we make a down payment
on  a place in the sun - 
so why not flowers for the living
nurtured by the rain?
To be again that acrobatic girl,
who could walk on her hands -
ride horses on the sand for fun,
jumping everlasting waves
Rain in the northwest is common
but apparently not all people cry
It's  a game I  tell myself,
but winning's not the goal;
All that's recorded streams
videotape of truths and lies,
 cleansed and rinsed by rain,
refreshes and heals on a dime,
it means finishing in style - 
immersed in a sea of  love,
 what matters in the viscera of time

dversepoets.com