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.

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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”

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

African Safari

A young American girl
suffered her turn,
riding behind her parents,
in the back of the Land Rover.
The guide slowed to a stop,
on the remote rugged Serengeti,
offering a ride to two young Masai.

They settled in the back,
across from the girl.
She stared in silence
at the marble splendor
of their fierce, proud,
warrior faces.

Lifting a goatskin bag,
they drank a mixture
of cow’s milk and blood;
offered it to the girl–
a shared meal,
a blessing.
She recoiled,
shaken.

At sundown,
the boys walked away
with easy grace.

Prompts: Sunday wordle.

A Reverie of Wordled Haiku

The rose sits ruffled
against the fence; hungry goats
rip and tear at leaves.

Pomegranate dusk
hangs heavy; pencils replace
swimsuits, sand and sun.

Honey crisp apples
sliced in a pie; recipe
for fault forgiven.

Picnic essentials
of blanket and wine; empty
bottles sleep content.

Icy water flows;
the drawbridge operator
gone without a trace.

Thick tree limbs fell hard
during the storm; the chain link
bent beyond repair.

Prompts: I used the Wordle words for this week to complete Joseph Harker’s Reverie prompt to write at least five haiku, correctly in the traditional way; no playing with form, syllable count or seasonal nature images.  He gives a great tutorial on how to accomplish that and I enjoyed the exercise.

Detour

The prelude came
as insidious rain
gently washing away
the sailing trip.
Instead, we drove
up the mountain,
following a tinny tip
from a nicked, bent
realtor’s sign;
the metal split
and worn.
Amid drifts of gold grass
that waved and bowed,
we stretched our limbs.
The trees were tinted
red and gold,
vivid against the cold grey sky.
Your eyes glowed
as we fixed ourselves
to this land.

Prompts: Wordle 70 and Writer’s Digest (write about a change of plans).