Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Dreaming My Cold Away

When I have a cold,
when I’m stuck in bed,
I close my eyes and dream
I’m somewhere else instead.

Sitting on the beach
with my toes in the sand,
a cool glass of something
sweating in my hand.

Or I see myself gardening
Planting hopeful seeds,
tucking in the plantlets,
and turfing out the weeds.

Or maybe I am drifting
on a lake in our canoe.
My paddle dips and dives
like the loons and loonlings do.

While I’m lying in my bed
trying not to swallow
there is no shining memory
I won’t pull up and follow.

Till the microscopic menace
loosens up its fetters
and I can truly say
“I think I’m feeling better.”

But until then I’ll close my eyes
and dream my cold away
with ideas for summer projects
and plans for sunny days.




Music, friends, and wine.
Enduring memories grow
from fleeting moments.



Winter Dawn

Dawn peers past cloudy
cataracts with pale blue eyes.
Snowblind; cold comfort.



227-photo for poem

When you’re gone
I find myself in the uncomfortable company
of my own self far too much.
I miss your symbiotic intelligence,
your unerring ability to catch
what I’m pitching,
scratch when I’m itching,
tolerate, placate
when I’m bitching.
It’s probably good for me to experience
introspection a little
every now and then. When
will you be home?


Time is a Relative

I am a firm believer in time warps.
In folding zones
and involuntary ticks
and talk about relativity…
It’s as clear as the gnomon on your face
that time shifts and passes
dependant upon the momentum of age.
Is the hourglass half full or half empty?
Time must be relative.
That’s the only way my grandbaby
could turn eighteen so soon.


The Garden Revisited

Dream you are in a garden.
Close your eyes and feel the sun tickle sweat from the back of your neck.
Open your mouth and gather the raindrops into your body.
Dig your toes into the soft soil and breathe in its sweetness.
Hear the thrumming of life sing to the beat of your heart.
Dream you are a garden.



Paring down is easy
at first.
Ditching the stuff you never use.
A shrug and a toss
into the give-away box,
the recycle bin,
the trash bag.
But then you come down to it,
the stuff that has a hook in your soul.
Stuff you keep because
someone gave it to you (the lamp),
it reminds you of a good time (the ticket stub),
you really are going to learn
(insert sport, craft, or language here) one day.
Perhaps the first step is to decide
what is important in your life,
what brings joy,
and just pare away everything that doesn’t.
Like the excess clay from a sculpture of yourself.
Yourself the way you were before the hooks
turned your soul into a pincushion.


Alpha Joy

Finish what you start.
Unless it’s wonderful, then
drag your feet through joy.




Sunrise through curtains
Backlit jacquard flowers bloom.
My winter garden.



The Wonderful Bed

We bought a bed, a wonderful bed.
A bed with shelves, cubby holes, and drawers.
We bought a bed that will replace
night stands and dressers. Who could want more?

Of course this bed, this wonderful bed,
is in the back of the truck, closely resembling
three big boxes, heavy and long.
Did I mention there will be some assembling?

Yes, we bought a bed, a wonderful bed
but we may have to work all night on it
before we`re able to say to each other
“You made your bed, now lie on it.”



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