To Life

To Life

I find life hard sometimes
it often does not make sense
people are not always kind
nor am I, I must admit.

Things are not as perfect
as I would like them to be
and the flavors of ice cream
are not always what I'd choose

Things happen I do not like
there are no easy answers
and among the flowers that grow
there are also weeds.

I just keep moving on
pull out weeds when I can
enjoy flavors as they come
and try hard to be kind

I find life hard sometimes
it often does not make sense
yet I raise my glass and toast
L'Chaim, To Life.


This poem was written for this week's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Each spring I listen for you

Each spring I listen for you

Spring was always your season and you waited patiently
for this time of rebirth so I know you are somewhere 
in my garden perhaps hiding behind the arbor vitae
overseeing and tending to the coming to life as you always did 
and sometimes when I stoop to tend plants in the greening earth
out of the corner of my eye I catch of glimpse of your smile 
between budding branches and hear your whisper in the warm breeze.


I wrote the above poem about my mother in 2007 before I thought of blogging at all.  And, in fact, it was this poem that inspired my blog title - In the Corner of My Eye.  I began blogging in 2008. It seems like only yesterday..........

I am sharing it once again today for the Poetry Pantry.

Stories

Stories

You share stories of your children
your grandchildren, your siblings,
your husband and his siblings.

last week's birthdays,
upcoming birthdays and
who shares birthdays with whom

happenings of early married life
for anything under the sun there is a story
often more than one

and I wonder if I am the only one
who wishes someone else might
have something to share

or if perhaps we could just have
a moment of simple and reflective
silence.

This poem is for Sunday's Poetry Pantry!  We all know
someone like this, don't we?

Autumn Ride

Autumn Ride

When he rode his bicycle down the street on a crisp October day his route took him high into the treetops from where he had a marvelous view.  He found himself looking down at the same street where he was riding his bicycle through the orange-yellow fallen leaves.  Viewing reflections the likes of which he’d never seen before.

What a delightful day for the boy, surrounded by the magnificence of nature above, then looking down at its beauty below.  And as he pedaled his bicycle faster and faster, his mind worked faster and faster as well, and  he contemplated all that autumn meant: The changing of seasons.  The cycle of life.  Varied colors of nature’s bounty.  The rich beauty of the entire glorious world.  Oh, if he could ride like this forever, breathe in the fresh crispness of all. Breathless, yet breathing deeply.  Time seemed to stand still for him.  Yet moved at an accelerated pace.  Faster, ever faster. Then slow.

But then, in the blink of an eye, it changed.  The boy woke up in a hospital bed, unable to move his casted, shattered leg. Pain stabbed each time he breathed.  In and out.  Sharp out, sharp in. He writhed. Strapped down. Unable to move. Broken ribs, collar bone, wrist. Drip, drip, drip went the pain killer.  His eyes could not stay open.    

The boy had been riding his bike, before being hit by an out-of-nowhere car.  Then siren and flashing red light.  Stretcher.  Carried into an ambulance.  He had felt every bump the ambulance went over before being  rushed into emergency. Then a blur, an IV, until……nothing.  Blissful pain-free nothing.  Sleep.  Drugged sleep. Until……

 …  Now here he was lying in bed, awake,  looking down at that street where he was riding his bicycle through the orange and yellow fallen leaves.  Alive, he smiled!

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This story was written for "Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero."  It has 313 words, including the title.  It was to include 'magical realism,' which I think it does.   It was inspired by a painting by Canadian artist Rob Gonsalves.  I will leave the painting up only a couple days, wanted to show my inspiration.