Poetry, stories and personal essays
When my eyes closed,
Your image remained
For hours and hours
Afterward
You walked my dreams
Blessing me with love
For hours and hours
Through the night
Your arms held me
Your kisses bathed me
For hours and hours
With tenderness
When I awoke
You at my side
For minutes and minutes
In unity
In awe I stared
Loving your eyes
For seconds and seconds
Beyond time
We drift through time
Missing moments
For years and years
To eternity
all of life is a series of
nonstories
the might-have-beens
the almost becames
the things we dreamt of
doing
but never did
the wishes unfulfilled
presents never delivered
or received
places never visited
near-misses
chance occurrences
that developed into nothing
the left-behinds
and
soon-to-be forgottens
all stories untold
mysteries locked
romances closeted
things never experienced
foods never tasted
but secretly yearned for
nonstories frozen in place
and time
with no characters to lament
plots stagnant
themes dragging behind
do we obsess
over the lost stories
and live life in a
vacuum?
NO
we constantly create
our personal life stories
our dreams springing to
a life lived luxuriously
laughing joyously
over the endless
possibilities
Papers, lifted by a gutsy breeze
Flapped about like feeble gulls’ wings,
Until, at last, their drunken flight ceased
Abruptly, like puppets on strings.
Through open window they had fallen
Landed in a puddle quite deep.
Now the spell of written words broken
Quietly, they drifted to sleep/
Letters danced in the mind’s ballroom
Exposing every faux pas.
Signal fires of humanity’s doom
Unwoven, like arrows of straw.
Windows blackened shatter by gunfire
Pain inflicted on those who dream
Forgotten the words to inspire
Leaving behind a crooked seam.
Until one morning with the sunrise
Rays impaled the heart of the mess
Erased and cleansed, papers did arise
United, with tuneful address.
Soared again with joyful abandon
Like children enjoying their play.
Through window papers excitedly spun
Yesterday’s worries away.
A golden leaf
Fluttered
To the ground
Rested
Crumbled into dust
Nourished a lowly worm
Fed a garden of flowers
And was reborn in a burst of color.
Life goes on.
One nurtures another
The circle must be unbroken
Or all will perish
Insomnia plagues my nights.
She tickles me between the ribs,
plays with my fingers and toes,
counts them one by one
as she props open my sagging
eyelids with her prickly fingers.
She sends shock waves down
my trembling spine. She cramps
muscles well-past exhaustion,
and pinches stretched-thin nerves.
After raking her nails down my
tightened calves, she sits back
and cackles, reveling in my misery.
How I long to slap her face,
To send her flying into my
neighbor’s bed so she can inflict
herself on another unsuspecting soul.
But I don’t.
I restrain myself, praying that she’ll slip
away as quietly as she arrived,
leaving me in peaceful slumber.
Insomnia, you are not my chosen
best friend or my bosom-buddy.
Leave me alone that I may travel
the distant shores of my dream-world,
experience the refreshing dip into the
pools of numbness, and drift deep
into the night, soaking up energy.
Sleep, come to me as softly as
a kitten tiptoeing into my lap.
Lick my parched lips with your
roughened tongue. Caress my
cheeks with your silky fur.
Drip sleep-inducing nectar into
my eagerly waiting eyes, then
rock me to sleep with the rhythmic
beating of your heart.
I await.
If I could choose to be
anything in the world,
I’d prefer to stay me,
an ordinary girl.
Nothing too special,
simply plain ol’ me;
terribly typical
without mystery.
Lacking true beauty
from the outside,
I’ve talents aplenty
on the inside.
Reader, writer, singer,
puzzle-solver, too;
teacher, sister, mother,
friend to folks like you.
I’ve never had a dream
of golden luxuries.
I’m happy as I seem
floating on a breeze.
I yearn for happy days
filled with simple joys,
living, loving, always
playing with my toys.
Call me tteach Terry,
call me your best friend,
call me mistress merry,
forever without end.
I have never been an arrogant person.
For much of my life I’ve been shy,
Backward
Afraid to exude confidence.
Pride does not come to me willfully.
It sneaks up like a mouse in the night.
It catches me unaware, surmising me
When it calls my name.
Even though I’ve accomplished much in my life,
I seldom take an opportunity to brag.
Instead, when I do speak, I do so quietly
With an unassuming air
Because even I am surprised when
Something goes well.
There have been times when I wanted to shout out,
To proclaim loudly those things that
Fill me with pride,
But I haven’t.
Until recently.
I realize now, at my age,
That I have much to be proud of.
Every day of life fills me with such joy,
Such a feeling of accomplishment
That I want to brag about simply being here
On this earth.
Today I am bragging, just a little,
Because I am alive.
