Tag: new poem every morning

About Spring

lindastudley2 Comments

Spring has sprung the winter pris’ner
from winter’s frigid jail cell. Isn’er
green a sweet refreshing shift
from white on white on…you get the drift.

Spring springs forth in crocus cups
and people have more giddy up
to go and tidy up their lawn
(where, winter long, the dogs have gone)

Spring’s outpourings lie in puddles,
drowning worms, the vernal flood’ll
trickle creepsily into basements
Measuring stuff with displacement.

Spring is full of fits and starts
that gladden and sadden and gladden your heart.
you’re so confused that in the end
Even squelchy mud seems like a friend,

a harbinger of things to come
like hammock time and maybe some
perfect days when sun and breeze are
in perfect balance and the freezer’s

full of fudgicles and T-bone steaks
for barbeques beside the lake.
Yes Spring has sprung and all we hankered for.
We’ll enjoy and prob’ly never thank her for.

#120

Wherever You Go, There You Are.

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“Where” is a variable with a value that fluctuates and which
is dependent upon “Who” for its identity.

“Who” is the constant; the immutable permanent;
the common denominator.

If “Where” becomes the constant and “Who” the variable,
“Who” may diminish and chaos may occur.

Some human equations are so constructed that “When”
may appear to be a constant.
But these are exceptional cases
where the value of “Who” is augmented.

“Where” is, and will always be, the variable,
it just may not vary for a long time and when it does,
it may do so with no consideration
for the constant “Who”.

 

#119

…apparently this is what happens when you try to write when you’re still asleep (and when math was not your strongest subject at school!)…

Message to Alien Neighbours

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We are a planet of human islands
loosely joined by tenuous fibres of love and pain.
Each of us is alone within our own skin except for fleeting
moments when we share ourselves
and we don’t share often.
Sharing is not something we come to easily.
Neither is empathy or compassion but we are getting better at it.

We are a planet of human contradictions
alternately capable of kindness and cruelty,
enlightenment and atrocity.
On a grand global scale or on a personal basis
we grapple with good and evil.
Perhaps one cannot exist without the other
but most of us want to believe
that some form of good will eventually triumph.

We are a planet where humanity is the dominant species;
not necessarily something to be proud of since
no one gets to the top without a little bloodshed.
If you still want to visit, know that some of us will welcome
peaceful overtures, and some will want to shoot first
and ask questions later, and some won’t even want to bother
asking questions.
Please make your travel plans accordingly.

#118

Someday Something

lindastudley4 Comments

I wish I had a dollar for every time I said
“I’d like to do that some day,” then walked away instead.
I’d be a millionaire by now and prob’ly could afford
to do those wistful things I once thought of then ignored.

I’d have financial freedom but would I, in fact, be free
or would there be more obstacles standing between me
and the wondrous “someday something” that led me on to dream
of doing something special, of swimming straight upstream

to the land of ‘someday somethings’,  to a world where ‘maybe’ rules,
where dreams are just a starting point and wonder is the tool
you use to build your own world, one that fills and fits you
where maybe one day you’ll look back and suddenly it hits you.

It wasn’t all that hard to reach, you didn’t need the dollars.
The world you left behind is getting smaller now, and smaller
until the world of wonder becomes reality
and the world of ‘must’ and ‘have to’ is lost in faded dreams.

 

#117

Things I Know For Certain

lindastudley5 Comments

The keys of B and E have no sharps.
B&Es are done on flats by people who don’t have keys.

Black is absence of reflected light while white is the acceptance.
To see things in black and white reflects an absence of acceptance.

Tempered metal doesn’t break when you hit it
People with tempers tend to break and hit back.

Other than that it’s all pretty much by guess and by golly.

 

#116

There Are Days

lindastudley2 Comments

Being responsible:
The rite of passage defining maturity.
The gradual acceptance of the burdens and the consequences
our actions engender.

The curse of knowing what needs to be done and doing it.
The rightness behind decisions that seem so wrong,
so hard, so sad. Bitter pills building character.

Is it any wonder so many of us slip into forgetfulness
with the years? Lose the ability to make decisions?
There are days when senility looks inviting
There are days.

 

#115

The Packing List

lindastudley2 Comments

What I would not take:
Phones, computers, or watches with insistent little lights.
Anything that starts with a lower case ‘i’
followed by a capital letter; ‘nuff said.
Clothing that might accidentally be considered fashionable.
Crossword puzzle books, board games, or anyone
who talks too loudly.

What I would take:
Comfortable shoes for shuffling through leaf mold, scrambling up banks, and slithering over slick stepping stones.
Layers. Layers are good.
Tank top, tee shirt, sweater, windbreaker.
Peel them off like onion skins when the sun gets high.
A guitar, some paper and a pencil,
Matches and a candle or two.
A toothbrush, a sense of wonder, and someone
who understands the eloquence of silence.
I might bring a comb.

 

#114

There Are

lindastudley7 Comments

There are holes in my heart made by those who depart
this life without saying goodbye.
And the holes drizzle pain like a cold fine rain
and I try, but can’t figure out why.
And I try to let go and I try to step back
but the holes just get deeper and then start to crack
I feel like a penny left on a train track.
There are holes, there are holes in my heart.

My brain’s started lapsing, developing gaps
in the places that cause too much pain.
The truths that it hides turn to fiction and lies
And it’s just too damn hard to explain.
and the lapses are growing and I’m starting to find
that fiction’s no comfort in troubling times
and I can’t find important stuff there in my mind.
There are gaps, there are gaps in my brain.
There are holes, there are holes in my heart.

There are spots on my soul where I’ve fought for control
over things that I should have let lie.
Of the battles I’ve won I’m pretty sure some
were just me, in a war with my mind.
And the spots never shrink, and the spots never fade
they don’t lessen or loosen or just go away
They’re a curse to be lifted and a ghost to be laid
There are spots, there are spots on my soul
There are gaps, there are gaps in my brain
There are holes, there are holes in my heart.

#113

Guess Who?

lindastudley4 Comments

Wet snow fell in April.
We brushed it from the truck windows
and slushed our way downtown
talking and laughing, you slowed
for the red light and a wide, white
blindfold of snow slid off the roof and
over the windshield,
as though winter had snuck up behind us,
clasped her cold white hands
in front of our eyes, and
exclaimed “guess who!”
Oh, honey, we know ‘who’,
we were just trying to ignore you.

 

#112