I chased a sunrise this morning
I almost caught it
on film
but
the reds
went pink
and the oranges lost their glow
before I could click the button and I’ll
have to just remember it
my eyes a truer lens
my memory a faster shutter
my heart a more vivid palette for the
sunrise I chased this morning.
#66
Looking back I see
that the best of times were not
when I was looking behind or
looking forward but
when I wasn’t looking at all.
The times I was content
to co-exist with the past, present, and future,
no regrets, no expectations.
The times when time was not
an issue, a challenge, or an obstacle to be overcome.
The times when I wasn’t comparing
or rating the overall success of my current experiences,
so, in fact, the best times were never
really quantifiably measured to prove
they were the best.
But they were.
And they will be again.
#65
Golden leaves are the
summer’s wages trickling
through cold, twig fingers.
#64
Politics (from Greek: πολιτικός politikos, definition “of, for, or relating to citizens”) is the practice and theory of influencing other people.
I’m tired of being influenced.
I’m tired of indignant voices.
I’m tired of having to choose what’s right
from what seems to be all the wrong choices.
Is honesty that hard to come by?
Who’s pulling the puppets’ strings?
For one is as bad as the other
just about different things.
I’m tired of the mud and the slinging.
expediencies and specious excuses.
I’m tired of arrogant platitudes
and blatant, egregious abuses.
All I want is a person to vote for
Somebody that I can trust
to do their best, not just for themselves
but for all of the rest of us.
#63
As a child I learned to sew by hand.
Then knitting and crochet lessons began.
As a teen I embroidered jackets and jeans
with fanciful creatures and Tolkien-esque scenes.
I made dolls and stuffed animals and toys for my kiddos
I don’t think there was anything I would get rid of.
I made rugs from old tee shirts, quilts from old scraps,
candles from crayons and paraffin wax.
Corn husks became dollies, I restored antiques
before Martha and pinterest and shabby was chic.
Then came weaving (backstrap) and weaving with beads.
Macrame, the gateway craft that leads…
…to quilling with quills and quilling with paper
and miniature crafting, like a form of escape.
Foil candy wrappers folded like stars.
The wood burning tools that left nasty scars.
I’ve wire wrapped beads, I’ve carved and I’ve felted,
made oddly shaped flowers from plastic I’ve melted,
What started as freebie, recycled, make do,
has cost me a fortune in supplies and glue.
Maybe someone should organize an intervention
to separate me from my crafty inventions.
But please wait until all my projects are done
That’ll be, let me see… when I’m a hundred and one!
#62
Well, a couple of months in to this personal challenge and I thought I should take a moment to connect with all the lovely readers who hit the like button and leave encouraging comments.
A couple of years ago I decided to write a poem a day for a year – it was a challenge that would make a lasting and positive difference on me and my attitude towards creativity. My goal was to ‘short circuit’ the inner critic – get used to writing without constantly second guessing or judging my words.
Well, after that first year, I took about another year to edit, refine, format, and create the book “Falling Awake” – with what I hoped were the best of the year’s poems.
“Falling Awake” has been very well received – certainly not on the best seller list, but then, when was the last time a book of poetry hit the best seller list?
Looking back, I realized I missed that spark of creativity in the morning, that gentle goad to ‘write it down’, and I missed the people who visited the blog, the kind words, the funny banter, the actual connection with people from all over the world.
I think that might have been the greatest gift I received from that year of writing; the very real and heartening fact that, deep down, we all have similar fears and joys, memories and emotions.
So a couple of month ago I started again, maybe to prove to myself that it wasn’t just an anomaly and that I could do it again. Maybe just because I missed all of you and thought that if I left a trail of poems, I could coax you out to play again.
Please feel free to leave a comment. I appreciate every word and promise to reply.
Thank you for joining me on this journey.
Linda
A truly moral person does the right thing.
Not because rules, laws, or dogma say they must.
Not out of fear of retribution or punishment if they don’t.
Not for personal gain, praise, or reward.
Not because it is expedient, or easy.
The truly moral person does what’s right
because it is right.
#61
If I’d been looking back
to see where I had been
I probably would have stumbled on
opportunities unseen.
So I’ll leave the past in the past.
It’s gone, and it’s done its part.
Whatever I need to remember
is already stored in my heart.
Eyes wide to the future, I step out
and leave the baggage behind.
I’m travelling lighter now-a-days
if only in my mind.
#60
Today I need to play a poem
write a picture
paint a song.
Today I need to step outside
and let the world come to me.
#59
A plan charts the map for the road trip
you’ve always wanted to make.
A plan put wheels on wishes,
distills fuel from day dreams, and
packs a lunch of hope and sandwiches.
A plan.
Gotta get a plan.
#58
Linda Studley 