Category: Writing 201

Flying

As I look up into the evening sky

 I ponder how strange things really are

Other planets are so far away and away so far

As I watch the clouds go by

I feel as though I can fly

If I could only be a bird

And I know it sounds absurd

But oh, I would fly so high

And feel free

I am soaring towards the future and the future is soaring towards me

To find my place at last

Let my writing be my guide

So my creation will be vast

And I can set free what I hold inside

Lady Fingers

Sunday after church was the time we would meet. I remember especially in the spring when the birds would sing. I would skip down the sidewalk beside my Mother until we got to the house. While the adults would chat I would go around quiet as a mouse. I would pick up a Royal Doulton and gaze into her eyes wondering what she would think of herself stuck on the mantle. All dressed up with nowhere to go. What a delicate thing in such pretty dress. Just like me in my Sunday best. Then I would be called back in to the drawing room. Aunt Leda would entertain us on the piano with her fingers flying and voice soaring.  My Mother laughing and singing along. Afterwards, we would have ladyfingers and tea. I would delight in the taste so airy and light. Like an angel had flown right into my mouth!

Foggy Memories

I’m not sure when I said goodbye

I told myself a lie

To ease the pain of watching you die

All I wanted was more time

Embracing the moments of clarity

Fleeting and fading

Now I can only reminisce about the good old days

Instead of suffocating in a toxic haze

We loved to shop, laugh or  bake a cake

Now darkness infects me like a venomous snake

Sickness took her like a thief in the night

Sadness and tears have dimmed my light