Winter Poetry

winter darkness
cradles me
long past my writing hour
I’m still adapting to time
and seasons

yes, I have been deep in sheets
dreaming
I was picking kumquats
larger than my hand

even though it is still
completely dark
the clock says Jeb will wake

breakfast calls

this morning
I am a sleepy mother
dreaming of a fruitful harvest
with little time for words
to share

so here’s a call
to write your own
add a comment here
together
we can still make poetry in winter

courtesty of dougww

Good Things

There is graffiti at the entrance to the temple
my natural beach cathedral
where a sloping foot trail
begins with an entry way
upon which
spray-paint faces in day-glow green
request that
“tourists go home”

look closely and you’ll see
down in the corner
one positive affirmation
among the random scrawls
good things happen to good people

on the day we met
his bike was at the entrance
leaning on the good
(though I didn’t see it then)
we were opening a combination lock by flashlight
the reminder
proclaiming in the shadows

In the mornings
I come to worship at this nature church
pass that adage every day
I walk sand
traipse through sea foam
settle myself with the hiss of white water

I am big among crabs
small beside cliffs
my heart pumping blood
with my breath

I walk the tideline
alive with open-hearted joy
unfurling
loving Love
saying yes

yet so tender in exquisite risk
I am but one step away
from utter
annihilation

so afraid I am
of being swallowed
whole by Love
though
I want nothing more
than to be absorbed
in its great force

I say my prayers
and chant my mantras
I walk the tideline
smiling tears
living yes and no

breath in
admit
breath out
I still have one foot
propping open that exit door
two eyes assessing
the safety of my situation

Oh let me be destroyed
by Love
but only if it won’t hurt
hah!

good things happen to good people
I stay
walking the tideline
each step
into the next
feeling
into the immense
heart
of Love

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

Art Opening

I want to write about
the art
opening

but this morning is overcast
with spelling test drills
the seven continents of the world
and reading mastery assignments

I guess it gets to continue
to settle in my cells
thick oil on hung canvases
salad bowls of chocolate chunks
Jeb
the Bohemian
and a roomful of surfers in dress-up clothes
smiling at the process

the opening
of art

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