Ali

A simple pleasure.
Her warm body
pressed tightly against mine,
a look of utter contentment
settled upon her face.
The purity of her love
unmistakable,
as she purrs beside me,
one paw shielding her eyes
from the too-bright lamp.
My heart squeezes
at the realization
of how much love I have
for this furry creature.
The simple fact
of her body
snuggled against my leg
fills me with incomprehensible joy.
She gives me love.
Pure,
Unconditional,
Unending.
It's more than I deserve,
yet she offers it freely,
happy to just be near me.
Bliss.

Less

Inescapable
the thoughts that fill my head
trying to make sense of them
fruitless

poetry
should be meaningful and bright
not just words strung together like mismatched pearls
meaningless

crazed
senseless combinations of images
snobbishly posing as art
talentless

hopeful
that what I once thought was a talent I had
was not merely wishful thinking
hopeless

The Reason

Away in a manger
a miracle lay
2000 years ago they say.
How often do we ever pause
to think of Him,
not Santa Claus?
The hype,
the stress,
can steal the joy
about the birth
of this baby boy.
He came for all,
a sacrifice.
His death for our sin
God said would suffice.
Let's not forget
that He is the One
without whom our lives
would be undone.
Thank you Lord
for loving me
thank you Lord,
eternally.

the breakup

a lonely walk
along a dark, snowy path
face lashed by wind
tears frozen in place
cold seeps in
where love and warmth once lived

Aspens

The sky is filled
with pieces of gold
being tossed about
by playful winds.
It is as if
a mischievous child
has tipped the coffers
of the gods,
spilling their riches
upon the mortals below.
The impulse is there
to scurry after the golden coins,
stuffing my pockets
to overflowing
while images of incredible wealth
dance through my mind.
But the cool grass beneath me
and the warmth of the sun above
breeds a feeling of lassitude,
and I simply lie here,
watching the “pennies from heaven”
float upon the tradewinds.

Childhood

The pitter-patter of…
well, not quite “little”
feet,
but just the same,
the sound that makes a home complete.
Through tears and tantrums,
rumpled hugs and sticky kisses,
I’m there – I’m theirs.
I yell ‘til I’m hoarse,
and they laugh.
I worry and wonder,
and they persist.
And just when I’m ready
to throw in the towel,
they come to me
sobbing “Mommy, fix it please”,
and while patching their childhood wounds
a lump rises in my throat
as a long-gone memory
saunters past,
and I recall when it was I
crying “Mommy, fix it please”.

The Financial District

Steel-encased beings
clog the litter strewn avenues
of the metropolis,
stopping now and then
to deposit their contents
onto sun-baked walkways.

Skyscrapers
stretch their skeletal arms
heavenward,
readying themselves
for the onslaught of workers
that will soon seek refuge
from the wool-mittened winds
that snatch at them in the streets.

Faceless names
mark doorways
passed by nameless faces,
winding their way
through the structure’s honeycomb
of rooms
and hallways,
their final destination
known only to the few
with whom they share their space.

Soon,
the halls are emptied
of their human cargo,
save an occasional straggler
caught slinking through the passageways,
arriving too long past the appointed hour.

The river of vehicles
has become but a trickle,
and for the moment,
all is calm.
It is 9:30 AM
in the Financial District.

A blog for my writing

I decided to create a second blog wherein I can post my attempts at poetry, fiction, and so forth. Constructive criticism is welcomed.