Head to Toe

Heads and feet define the edges of our lives.

We emerge into the world, tumbling head-first into waiting arms.

We trip along through our days, sometimes falling head over heels.

When we are up, we are getting a-head.

When we are behind, we are dragging our feet.

Good advice gives us a heads up, and teaches us to watch our step.

Enthusiasm has us jumping in with both feet, often finding ourselves in over our heads.

If you’ve said too much, you’ll find a foot in your mouth.

It may signal a big head, if you are taciturn instead.

Advantages could mean getting a head start or a leg up.

Stepping up is sometimes applauded, but be careful if you stick your neck out.

Nothing hurts like a stubbed toe or a throbbing head.

Throwing caution to the wind may find you running head-long into the unknown, footloose and fancy-free.

The laurel wreath may grace the head of one who dares to dip their toe in.

To be completely loved is to be adored from the top of one’s head to the soles of one’s feet.

A life complete will leave footprints in the hearts and minds of those we meet.

Until the end, when under a headstone, each one lies six feet deep.

Terminal

The end is near.
Many ends to choose from:
a bomb, the zombies, the calendar.

With endings, there must be beginnings.
So there’s hope, but still an end.

It looms on the horizon,
stalks in the shadows.
Will we know, be aware
of its approach?

Do we even want to know?

Would I rather sleep through its coming, or toast it
with friends?

Could I stand to watch as all I love
is laid to waste?

Indeed, I must.
Whether it arrives at once
or takes its precious time.

To live is to observe all the small endings
on the way to our own.

So we pray for fortitude to fight
and joy for the moments in between.

 

How I became a poet

Words are kind of my thing, I write, I talk,
and yet, I never was a poet.

I always felt too tight, bottled up,
what if the words were wrong?

What if they didn’t flow, or fit, or rhyme?

What if they weren’t perfect?

Perfection was my Great Wall of China,
Impressive in the middle, if unfinished at the ends.

It was impossible to be perfect, I knew
I couldn’t reach that high, that wide.

I’d shuffle pretty parts as people passed
keeping them from seeing what lay undone.

Until tired, I saw with new eyes my fellow shufflers
All exhausted from the motion meant to hide.

And others, who had laid their pretty bits aside
still close at hand, but not as screens for broken things inside
Instead they opened wide their hearts and lifted up their heads
No longer shamed, with joy their daily bread.

Then words arose, delicious aromas of sweetness wafting by
I took my paper, and drawing one down began to write.

‘Twas a Clutter-free Christmas

‘Twas the week before Christmas and throughout the house,
All ’round clutter abounded without many doubts.
There were papers on tables, receipts on the floor,
It made me plum crazy, couldn’t take any more!

The children had piled up their jackets and socks,
Just to run off to play with their trains and their blocks.
My husband and I, sadly complicit, too,
Had been walking away from my purse and his shoes.

Now then school was dismissed, our work loads were shifted.
The time was now here for these piles to be sifted!
I surveyed the big mess, my heart sank in my chest.
“There’s too much!” I confessed. “This stuff’s making me stressed!”

Now Rina! Now Bella! Now Teddy and Richard!
We can’t let these stuff piles grow up and get bigger!
Clean dishes, sort papers, report cards and projects,
Fold laundry, then stow it, don’t have to be perfect!

Collect it, and stash it, and clean all the corners!
Recycle, or trash it, no time for disorder!
Christmas is coming, it’s a time for good cheer!
“No you can’t simply move that from there to right here!”

The stuff piles were growing now smaller and smaller.
No more did I fear that the bell was a caller.
Now our friends could come over, not breaking their legs
Tripping o’er errant Legos, and dollies, and trains.

Come celebrate Christmas, sip coffee and chat.
Don’t need fancy jackets, or ties, or new hats.
Our house it is cozy, the corners fresh dusted,
but it still isn’t spotless, now that can be trusted!

So long, panicked cleaning, and sorting and such,
It seems all that was needed was a firm human touch
‘Til next year we bid you a not fond, “Farewell!”
Merry Christmas, to all, think I’ll rest for a spell.

Unexpected

Hours roll by without a break. Meetings, flow charts, spread sheets overwhelm her schedule.

“Just one moment of peace, please,” she screams internally to no one in particular.

Stuck.

Traffic jammed up for miles before and behind.

Smile twitching the corner of her mouth.

Unbusy at last.

Someone was listening.

Part of the 50 Word Challenge:
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/07/writing-challenge-fifty/

Companion

Wind blows. A leaf scuttles down the sidewalk.

She sits alone, staring into the tangled brush.

Walking by, he stops to follow her gaze.

Ribbons flutter in the branches.

A tear drops, silently.

A prayer before he sits and takes her hand.

Shared grief unites.

An unspoken promise of presence.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/04/07/writing-challenge-fifty/