Birthed in transparent ocean clouds.
Weaned near budding green reeds.
Condensed by youth – the grey vapors of longevity,
Waterways merge into the deep azure of maturity.
Green valleys of life into whitewashed peaks, thunder,
As the colors of water,
Paint a portrait of life’s cyclical monsoon reservoir.
Pulmonary sketched orbs of unsung valor,
Pour into nature’s beaker,
Its magenta vermilion nectar.
Blood oranges, blushingly shy visitors
To the citrus family mansion,
Thirsting to fit in,
With cousins green limes and lemon.
Not to mention,
Famous step-sister yellow orange –
Whose pulpacious personality, a family tradition.
Differences aside, when tangy juice is at stake,
Together, one fruitful family they make.
Perhaps rainbows warm the heart,
As tantalizing specters of curved sunlight,
Or, because of the magical way that at just the right angle,
With the Sun watching your back,
Heavenly tapestry creates an earthly spectacle.
Or, because somewhere deep within,
They are moments for one.
Between the universe and you alone.
A reminder of a promise,
Made long ago –
That when storms surge and you seek rescue,
You hold on to hope that is true,
And, remember to look heavenward,
For that unique sign forward,
Reminding you, that you are never alone,
Never forgotten and eternally loved.
What do eyes see,
The sunrise painting the Sea.
Pale blue waves cresting the horizon,
So mesmerizing one can almost hear the tide rising.
Local birds glide in the updraft like seagulls diving.
While an inlet forms in a nearby cloud’s center core,
Tiny waves nipping at the bar’s shore.
The true Ocean is not near here,
Landlocked vistas the regular fare.
Are these enchanted memories dreams make,
Of legendary stories read long ago.
Or, too much caffeine in the morning mistake,
Of a double, turned triple espresso macchiato.
Perhaps, start reading that book
You’ve only given its cover a look
Create that cabinet space
From that centuries-old lace
Roam somewhere new outdoors
Enjoy its woodland moors
Shop for that small un-necessity
You’ve told your mind is an impossibility
But thoughts of it are shear serendipity
Play your favorite old songs
Without Alexa or Cortana tagging along
Blow soap bubbles out your window
Even if you can’t go outside fast enough
To see where they go.
You may not yet paint like the next big artist
Nor write poetry like Frost –
But, creativity is in your DNA
To enjoy every day.
O thou spoken words,
Rehearsed from sacred chards,
Now with your power take flight.
Not on Icarus’ chariot,
But fastened with a bell,
On the gossamer wings of an Angel.
And, when we need it most,
Return to us as the sound of wise counsel.
Kick back and stare up at the clouds,
They know how to hang out.
Take fish photos near a teaming ocean inlet –
“The fish don’t mind water; they’re already wet.”
Listen to herding rain bleating on the window pane.
Sleep eyed raindrops whisper to the snooze button again and again.
Rest, the gracious interior decorator,
Adding a splash of color to life’s fervor,
Even from within imagination’s cosey larder.
Dandelions, your fame grows near and far.
Your floral stages echo sun, moon and star.
Your bright yellow blooms burst into the morning air.
Yet, at night you fold your flowers, as if in penitent prayer.
Long ago gardeners gave way to your herbaceous yields,
Exchanging expensive grass for your expansive yellow fields.
Thriving longer than your seasonal cohorts,
You are useful from flower to roots.
You are generous visitors,
Welcomed on many farms.
‘Though occasional olfactory suitors,
Are not always appreciative of your charms.
Spring morning’s dulcet wake up call,
Prompts instant recall,
Of wordless love songs to Fall.
No rush for Spring’s serenade to be over,
Nor avoid Summer’s sweet roasting turnover.
Instead, a momentary glance into nature’s seasonal refrain,
Pleasantly provoked and enjoyed again and again.