Poetry

Beyond the Balcony Rosette*

I.  Shadorma:  Daybreak 

Aurora
peeps with her first blush.
Moonbeams melt.
Stars dissolve
quietly to kiss light’s face
now rosy risen.

II.  Sonnet:  My Love Come Dance

My love, my love, come dance with me
in sweet delight tonight carefree.
Soaring souls mount heavenly stairs
leaving behind sorrows salt tears.

Hearts entwined together are bright,
waltzing past sunsets afterlight,
gleaming wings lift as angels sing,
“Holy Lord”, to the wellspring king.

For what is love but all divine,
sustaining life: sweet nectarine.
Those lips that taste of paradise
worth all the living sacrifice.

My love, my love, my cherished one,
love you more than the rising sun.

III.  Still Night

Placid waters formed
beneath the rising moon;
nightingales sang
to comfort the still night.

Stars aligned in formations
of old, still toasting the winds
that kiss the sweet waters below.

*First published in Renaissance: Nightingale & Sparrow Issue No. II May 2019.

The Art of Soup*

The coziness of a warm kitchen, pots
bubbling on the stove, aromas of
fresh vegetables permeate the air.
Delicious is the atmosphere, that
the harvest brings.

The weather turns to cooler, the wind
to sharp and crisp. Jack Frost settles
briefly on the morning scene, to nip
our cheeks and hurriedly run. The children
off to school, the tots napping, the hearth is
full and giving.

Soup making is an art, I love to employ
a marvelous undertaking, so quaint and with joy.
Lovely the soil’s bounty, the wealth of her growth.
Tomatoes, carrots, celery, onions chopped;
to marry thyme and flavorful basil.
Red wine flows her spirits to gift, garlic
cloves pressed with pepper and salt.

Simmer long and on low, no rush to finish,
fill my home with your scents. Tempt and tantalize
the hungry senses. Daily bread on the table
with hot steamy bowls, a loving placed
dinner is served. My loves gather round
with prayer we do feast, my love of soup-making
I gladly show off.

*First published: Womb By Me Poetry World 2018.

To My Son*

You are my son, my only child.
I love you now, as then, and forever.
I still vividly recall the time, the event,
the day of your birth; a Monday
morning, just before dawn. The
labor was long and surprising the pain–
the first time you know. You were so
utterly beautiful, so perfect, so mine.

I was not young, nor was I old;
nothing prepared me for how this
motherhood felt. I loved you so.
Your cry triggered my let down reflex.
My milk ran so easily. I have never
loved anyone or anything as I loved you.
I held you in my arms, I was so enthralled
by the miracle of life that I just went

through. You were so beautiful, my hearts
total delight. Your first tears calmed to quite
with peaceful sleep when in my arms. My
heartbeat your safety, your home–you
knew me. The mother-child bond is
like nothing else. Such tenderness,
completion, gratitude for life–all new to me.

Dawn rose blazing red in the East, while
snow has shown outside the Denver hospital
window to the West. Blanketing the Rocky
Mountains in heavenly white. Forever, will
I celebrate the first snow of the season
with memories of your precious birth.

I smile complete with these feelings
of motherhood because of you.
I love you so much, now just as then.
I shall love you forever my son, remember
that much. For when the snow in my hair
fades and I am no more; remember
the first snow of the year and I will
be there.

*First published: Womb By Me Poetry World 2018.