I woke up to fog this morning and felt a little poetic.
The fog creeps in coming across the water
To spread along the beach
Blanketing the rocky shores
Cloaking them in the mist.
The foghorn sounds to warn of danger
In coming too close
The denseness of the fog
Dampening the sounds of the foghorn.
Seagulls flying unseen in the mists
Their calls muffled as they search for food
Drifting on the slight breezes
Diving to the water’s surface.
The water lapping at the shore
The tide flowing in and out
Gently to not disturb
The fog creeping in.
The Face in the Mirror
Looking in the mirror she sees a stranger
The reflection looking back is no longer beautiful
The eyes that once sparkled now hard and cold
The lips usually curved up in a smile now in a downward turn.
The anger and resentment within seeps out
Hardening the heart and soul
A tear slips down her cheek
As she ponders how she came to this end.
She misses the days past filled with hope and laughter
The excitement of each new day
Now dreading the days and what they hold
She turns away ashamed of what she’s become.
Looking up at the night sky
Black with tiny lights filling the void
She dreams of faraway places
Free of pain and suffering.
A body racked with disease
The life force within waning
The pain taking its toll
Joints swollen too stiff to move.
She wishes for release from this tortured body
To soar amid the stars
To be light and free floating
To smile one more time.
Living the good life
A large home
A new car
A closet overflowing
Jewels and gold.
A demanding job
Working more to have more
A soulless life.
A deep yearning
To shed the shackles
To lift the spirit
To free the body
To be whole again.
A bit of poetry for your Tuesday.
On a hilltop overlooking a small village
Stands a sentinel ever watchful
Never moving always on guard
Protecting all below.
His gaze never wavering
Looking over the horizon
Stoically waiting for the need
To unleash his power over the realm.
Though he is made of plaster and wood
His mere presence gives comfort and courage
To the villagers below
Having faith in the belief that the Sentinel will stand for them.
Three poems for Tuesday
The reddish glow of the setting sun
Gives way to the twilight skies
The rising moon orange and bright
Casts a warm glow on the earth below.
Glowing eyes searching for
Movement in the forest barely seen
Ears cocked listening for
The slightest sound almost unheard.
Swift legs and strong body leaping
From its vantage point
Giving chase to the fleeing prey
The creature draws near with deadly accuracy.
The dark night sky moonless
With only stars to light the way
The forest below cloaked in blackness
Masking all from view.
The hunter waits silent and still
Listening for the slightest sound
Searching for any noise
That might give him the advantage.
Eyes black in the darkness
Open wide scanning the forest floor below
Sitting on his perch high up in the branches
Ready to fly swift and sure.
Stepping carefully and slowly
Ever on guard
Eyes darting furtively back and forth
Scanning the forest for movement.
Ears cocked listening for sounds of danger
A crack of a branch or crunch of fallen leaves
In the distance
Cause the body to stiffen.
Nostrils flare sucking in the air
Catching the whiff of peril
The legs rear and the body bolts
Desperately trying to outrun death.
Your eyes haunt my soul
Your lips tantalize my skin
Your touch makes me quiver
Your words break my heart.
My tears blind me
My lips grow cold
My skin stiffens
My brain tells me to run.
The treachery and lies
Spill from your lips
The truth is in your gaze
Eyes cold and hard.