Sun Kissed Days

Sun Kissed Days

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


she says.
Her voice calm,
like stars floating in the night sky.
Her energy fills the room,
the breaths fill my lungs.
My spirit dancing,
My thoughts wander to
colorful peace signs on my notebook.
I wander back,
the waves wash over me,
I am in the ocean,
the soothing wind playing through my hair.
" no judgement", she says calmly,
and I melt into the moment.
my mind wanders,
like a cast at sea.
I reel back my thoughts into the present,
feeling lighter,
feeling gratitude,
feeling peace.

Friday, August 26, 2011

Easy ?

Every week on Friday we meet,
six word Fridays is not easy.
Melissa is our host with grace,
she is a mom, writer, friend.
She welcomes with an open heart.
We weave and we spin tales,
we encourage and we inspire friends,
through the joy, throught the grief,
we share our thoughts and dreams.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Mom's Journey

Limencello in my chilled white cup,
the taste of sorrow,
sweet seduction.
I sip and I remember.
He held me,
as we walked,
behind mom to her final
resting place.
Prayers said in the background,
the voices drowning,
in the cries of my despair.
In the silent night,
we could not sleep,
consumed with grief and jet lag.
We drank Limoncello,
and we looked through the windows,
of our past,
the links of our life,
big and small details.
A brother and a sister,
surrendering to the ache in our soul,
inspired by the past,
to carry on.

This week is two years since my mom passed away. I miss her every day.

Friday, August 19, 2011

Blue Heaven, Key West

We walk through puddles in  rain,
streets of lost and found dreams.
The raindrops dancing on our skin,
our flip flops wet and squishy.
We search and unexpectedly we find,
the charming, casual, Blue Heaven restaurant,
whispering tales of young and old.
The outdoor courtyard enchanting and inviting,
inside we escape the steady rain,
roosters roaming outside, inside lovely ambiance.
We wait and  receive our desire,
Key lime pie with delicious mountain
of meringue, indeed a visual feast.
Sweet taste on our lips lingers,
feeds the body and the soul.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Father And Daughter

Father to daughter,
he wrote her a story,
about a horse that broke his leg.
The published story was left behind,
in the attic of her childhood home.
Tattered and yellow,
small black print,
she longed to see.
She wondered if her father saw,
that she was broken.
She wondered if he saw fragility,
in her big brown eyes,
and he wanted her to be whole.
He wanted her to know that some wounds
don't fester.
Like the horse in his story,
all things are possible,
when you dream,
when you love.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Trial And Error In August

We are cradled by gentle waves,
writing our names in aquamarine water.
Low tide, high tide, slack tide,
the chum rings the dinner bell,
rods standing, waiting for the challenge.
Are we using the right bait?
Are we at the right place?
We sing songs we have forgotten,
there's a flow, there's a dance,
we cast, and then we wait,
we learn from trial and error.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Anchored Here

The sun hovers low,
like a helicopter parent.
The ocean glistens,
from the light.
Lobster pots decorate the water,
like berries on a flat pancake.
Bridges of yesterday,
erect in my mind.
Play, rewind,
the chatter is loud,
even though I am anchored
in the moment.
Even though I am grateful for today.

Friday, August 5, 2011

Speak Truth

Thoughts scattered like visions in dreams.
Hard questions that are buried deep,
past errors suffocated and silenced away.
Politicians guilt us into feeling dirty,
throwing crumbs on our paper plates,
a bitter morsel hard to swallow.
A detour, confusion, and more conversation.
Speak up, speak loud the truth,
is the only communication we desire.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

To Be Human

Umbrellas zigzag  through
the rain.
The beauty of these Paris avenues
not lost on us.
She says, "I feel like a herd of cattle."
I laugh as I take it all in,
" I feel like a butterfly."
We walk in and out
of museums
filled with wonder,
trying to breathe in some humanity,
into our veins.
As we inhale the timeless art,
drops of our spirit,
seep back into our core.