The stream (all workshops)
Some called her a rescue dog.
True, I adopted her from the local humane society.
The only home she had ever known was gone,
Her previous owner taken to a nursing home.
I found her there,
Huddled in a concrete-floored run,
Matted, tangled, with an overgrown coat,
And no eyes, it seemed, hidden under her bangs.
Truth to tell, she wasn’t much to see.
My heart ached for this little ink blot curled up on the floor.
She stood and crept to the gate where I stood.
Neck stretched out, she sniffed my hand.
Dew drops glisten upon
silver threads carefully intertwined.
Piece by piece, built and rebuilt,
the spider reflects on her work.
What was once a dusty door frame,
has become a work of art.
Through her tears and fears,
something beautiful arose.
Her triumph and escape,
from Hell's all encompassing gate,
finding herself within the mess,
landing safely in her new found web of life.
Chartreuse lace mists a shadow branch
Spring makes her annual advance
Stronger sunlight than months gone by
Fair weather ushered through needle's eye
The air is cool though, even yet
Winter whispers "never forget"
Get away
A time to remember
Family who really loves me
Learning to love them with all my heart and my soul
Vacation
“I hope I die before you”, she worries.
“I don't want to be alone.”
“But you'll have the two dogs and some family.
Besides, I'll need you to host my Celebration of Life,
and read a poem for me. Maybe this one.
And play the music I liked for everyone;
maybe tell a joke or two, so things don’t get too somber.”
“But you won't be there.”
“Yeah, more or less, that's how I see it too my love.”
Stone
Written by Kelly Ann Wilson
Before I could get my license
And learn to drive a car
Before I could walk across the stage in a cap
And hold a diploma in my hands
Before I could wear the white dress
With the buttons down the back
Before I could find my direction
And purpose
And what I was meant for
My body started
Turning to stone
And soon, I couldn’t move
Couldn’t walk
Couldn’t run
Couldn’t reach
And even though I was still young
I would never again be free.
I poured them all out
Tender feelings
Calmly
Said what my heart thought about
The subject of us
Soft words echoed
In the space between us
Spoken blindly
But true
And the lamp didn't blink
The floor flatly didn't think
The walls just stood there, blank
They all had you to thank
For the expression on your face
Was just the same
And the day drizzled into a storm,
one that rolled gently over the valley
Enveloping the streets below "The Hill"
making heavy breaths, moving slow.
Water, water everywhere...
More than enough to choke me,
too little to float a boat, swim in
or cleanse the soul of the city.
The river runs ice-free this year
no break-up and flooding,
"Canal walk" striding past
Blue Crocus and Pussy-willows
Their bikes stormed past
the church lane, down
to the end of the road
where the gravel thins off
into nothingness
but dandelions, clover,
and Queen Anne's Lace.
The five boys wrestled their bikes
into a tight huddle, faces flushed from
riding so darn fast, and so darn hard,
hearts pounding inside their youthful chests -
still innocent,
still fragile.
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