The Wheelbarrow

--has faded blue paint
    chipped, scratched,
    caked with clods of dried dirt.
--wobbles on one wheel
    heavy with burgundy-brown bricks;
    plastic packs of perky pansies.
--holds memories of bright blue days
    spilling laughing children
    on the ground.

Prompt: Joseph Harker’s Recursion prompt from yesterday.  In a nutshell, take a familiar object and think about its form, function, origin and symbolism.

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For Leontien

An ordinary day
becomes lavish
when you open your eyes
to morning.
The December fields
are covered
with a khaki army blanket;
white faced cows
black specks on the fabric,
like whiskers
or lint.
Days dangle and blur
but thrice wedded love
stands strong
and steadies your slowing steps.
Abnormal cells steal your youth,
your dairy dreams,
but not your miracle mornings
piled high
past two weeks
pushing to tomorrow.

I wrote this for Leontien, a blogger friend, who is battling cancer.

Wordle 84

Scent of baby lotion,
fingers curled
on a silky blanket
soft and still.
Warm head cradled,
hips sway.
Laundry in a heap,
warm and dry;
socks fallen on the floor,
forgotten.

Eyes closed,
lungs fill
with end of day;
ocean spray,
flecks of gold
skim the sky,
cobalt cloud edges
smudge crimson,
then fade
into night.

Family Trees

Wearing sturdy shoes
and a faded burgundy jacket,
I walk in the autumn air
with my family trees.

My husband, the oak,
stands sturdy
ignoring phantom wisps of fog
weaving through the walls
of hard wood and dark leaves.
His roots reach into rocky soil
bending boulders to anchor deep.
His bark bears scars
from lightening strikes,
nagging woodpeckers,
and squirrels living in the hollows
of his trunk.

Kyle, the cottonwood,
grew fast, tall and narrow.
Limbs touch the sky,
leaves twinkle in the sun.
The roots grow deep and wide,
new shoots sprout
where his focus falls.

My daughter, the pine,
is evergreen, fragrant.
Long green needles cascade
down her back.
Pine cones feed squirrels
leaping in her branches.
Soft wood burns
warm and bright.

I am the sycamore,
growing by the brook,
cooling my roots in the damp earth.
My trunk peels,
exposing patches of grey.
Birds gather dry twigs and nest,
hidden in the spreading canopy
of dusty leaves.

Prompts: Sunday Wordle and Margo’s Wordgathering “metaphors”

Wind is Released

Ride a horse
Ride the wind
Wind that whistles and roars
Wind that whispers
Whispers of freedom
Whispers of abandon
Abandon stress and strain
Abandon chores
Chores like laundry
Chores choking time
Time with a curry comb
Time to saddle up and go
Go up on the rocky ridge
Go watch hawks soar
Soar on warm updrafts
Soar on wide wings
Wings that span the sky
Wings broad and strong
Strong as life
Strong as love
Love wild and wise
Love shining in a shaft of sunlight
Sunlight washing away worry
Sunlight glowing in my eyes
Eyes emerald meeting your
eyes blue sparkling sapphire
Sapphire mountain lakes
Sapphire autumn sky
Sky wider than the Pacific
Sky above sycamore trees
Trees whose leaves fade and curl
Trees that drop brown leaves
Leaves above green and gold
Leaves below dusty and deep
Deep ravines to cross
Deep shadows
Shadows lengthen and dance
Shadows deepen dusk
Dusk draws us home
Dusk’s last light brings chill
Chill creeping under my jacket
Chill blowing white wispy fog
Fog from horse sweat
Fog from our breath
Breath pulled in deep
Breath released
Released Relaxed Gone
Released from worries
Worries
Gone

Prompt from Poetic Bloomings for the form, Blitz.

At Alisal Ranch October 2012

Sitting on burgundy cotton cushions
under an umbrella of sycamore leaves
we rest.
The sun drifts behind trees,
sinks toward the ridge,
and clear light fades
in a cloudless sky.
We inherit the evening.

Shadows of childhood dreams visit;
they dance and shift,
shaking and rolling,
their gentle thunder joined
with quiet intent.
I remember the solemn vowed words
of a seven year old
whispered in the dark,
deeper than wish,
clearer than vision.

This is the dream.
Alive.
Riding with you on a wild gallop;
stopping to watch
a bobcat run;
his tail twitching behind the tree trunk;
while our horses stand
sweating in the morning sun.

This morning;
This evening;
This sun;
This kind of carpe diem.

Prompt: Sunday Wordle