A great many things
Cause me shame, angst
A life filled with regrets
For actions taken
Hurtful words spoken
Acknowledgments left undone.
Today, though, I realized
That my apologies
Sincere, genuine, raw and heartfelt
Were greedily accepted, perhaps gleefully so,
By those who had flung their own arrows.
Their tarnished memories failing to recall
How they excluded
Mocked and judged me.
Looking down on me, still
Yet receiving my mea culpas
While never offering their own.
I wonder: Does this make me unworthy?
I would like to live by the sea.
Knowing the roar (and the quiet) of expansive waters
In my everyday affairs.
Waves kissing the shoreline: blue, gray, seafoam green.
Sailboats. Salty breezes.
Watching gulls and pelicans
Frolic in the tide.
Luscious light and sound. Movement. Scent of ocean air.
I harbor romantic notions of a different life.
A quaint cottage, rustic but charmed.
Water on my horizon.
Neighbors and town folk, quirky yet sturdy. Solid.
Good people, just like anywhere.
My days spent in clarity
And purpose, if and when I want them to be.
Sometimes I yearn for the grit and sheen
Of another reality, an alternate existence.
With gauzy vision, however, I imagine
Someone, like me, along a rocky beach
Contemplating fields of corn, heavy with dew.
Cattle grazing on a sun-soaked hill.
Goats, chickens, barb wire fences. Grain bins.
Sunflowers, wild chicory.
And hummingbirds in the spring.
Another dreamer who, like me, also dreams.
Sleep eluded me
(Mind churning with the day’s activities)
But a restful night nonetheless.
Thunder in the distance.
My lighted keyboard
Helps me find the keys.
My body says “Rest a little more”
But my brain has other ideas….
One day a child will return
No longer in shame or chagrin.
There is always a home,
A beginning, initial rays of light, first steps taken.
Night falls in the quiet country
Crickets and critters, shapes and movements among the trees.
The screen door shuts, echoing in the darkness
A cigarette glows fiery red and orange, and then, a sigh.
It embraces you
This homecoming. You could stay here forever.
And perhaps some do, or will.
You either resist or you yield.
No place is Shangri La.
The green is as vivid or lean
As you wish it to be, wherever you are.
So: Will you reclaim this now, again, as Home?
Daily Prompt: Local
Thoughts of past transgressions:
My innards recoil
With embarrassment, disbelief and unease.
On display for all to see
And revel in?
Why do I not see this manifested in the aura of others?
Surely, I am not the only one….
Daily Prompt: Cringe
A steady stream ~
Nonsensical faces, words and strides.
In and out of consciousness
A pretty heady ride.
A ghostly pallor.
A dribble and a sigh.
She knew not what to think or say
Her pillows sat too high.
Legs, then arms, akimbo
Satisfied and spent.
Sixty years alone and counting
Alone: She had no gent.
Dreams, unfulfilled dramas
This had become her life.
Afraid to venture beyond four walls
If only she’d become a wife.
Allow for more ~
More joy, more pleasure.
Look. But also see.
There is much to be, to gather, to do.
This is our time.
Blossom and enjoy the life we have,
The life we choose to live.
Perspective, attitude, grace
All are under our control.
We are in charge of our own happiness.
Destiny: That’s ours to manage.
There is bliss to be had
In even just knowing this alone.
Daily Prompt: Blossom
What do I have, what can I offer
That is beautiful
Try, just try
She told herself,
And so, with genuine effort,
Resolve and enthusiasm
She was able to rock her own world.
Self-confidence: To the moon.
The resulting joy: Profound.
Curiosity: I think I can, I think I can.
This changes everything…
Daily Prompt: Create
Their shining innocence,
Their capacity for joy.
Oh! And I’ll take some of that wild, exuberant energy of theirs too, please.
Daily Prompt: Paragon
We are limited in scope
To what we can accomplish
This day, this hour, this minute.
The breadth and depth and velocity
Of our passions
Is the key.
The volume of life is consummated in perfection: Love, kindness, nature and beauty.
Nothing matters more. All else matters, really, not at all.
Daily Prompt: Volume