Soft Signs of Soon

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Soft signs of soon
Soon, signs of soft
Signs soft, of soon
Of soft, soon signs
Soft soon, signs of

*Taking four words and writing poetry.

The phrase “soft signs of soon” caused such comfort this morning. Curious to see when placing them in a different order would body and mind react differently. Comfort, anxiousness, hopefulness, reflection, and peace were felt after each line.

I’m focusing on language and how it causes the poet in me to react. I’m happy with the outcome of this exercise and wanted to share it with y’all.

Does this make any sense to you or have I arrived at the Cliff of Rediculusness? Smiles. So what if I have…

***
A quick glance into my today. I do hope all is well in WordPress land. Thank you for continuing to read my poetry, as of late. I’ve shared much of what was written over the past year. There will continue to be some of that, please take caution when reading and don’t worry too much about me, as not all will reflect the moment.

I’m full-time mom, full-time employee, and full-time single household juggling, so please know I appreciate you being here in my space and leaving an encouraging word.

Your understanding and support means more than you will ever know. I recognize how difficult it can be to write while continuing to be present enough to encourage your peers. You never go unnoticed. I want you to believe this most importantly.

Thankful you still see the remnants of a Poetess about, as she is the woman who inspires me and the one I will crawl on my knees, however the distance, to find once again.

Always,
Aud

With or Without

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She was quiet this morning,
Dawn, that is, miraculous,
Peaceful in her timeless dignity.

Two mallards skim rural water, as twin rogues,
Before taking flight with one another,
Their sky, a season of cerulean.

An ibis flirted with stoic wind,
Hardly noticed and without sound,
As her white wings rode his reliable gift.

Nature thrilled with my insistent watchful probe,
Created a warm glow from the rising sun,
Behind clouds, the color of smoke.

In the end, my eyes focused,
On a spider crawling about her web,
Intricate designer, naked to most.

Her long legs seemingly stretched across,
Compressed air, as I questioned myself, almost,
But, chose to alter my angle, instead.

Life reassured me, artistry brought into focus,
Minutes passed, comfort took hold,
As I found you there, too.

How do I know?
Alone, I briefly turned and whispered in awe,
“You’re seeing this, aren’t you?”

Hood replaced reluctantly, closed tight
Gloved hands situated
Into warm inviting pockets
I continue amongst what’s frozen

In A Moments Time

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From simple beginnings
A leader, yet not
Self cope, learned not taught
An ache swells against her chest
She, fully aware of the meaning
And where her priorities
Should remain, yet
A glimpse of cerulean,
Through a pristine white sky,
Leaves her swiftly restrained.
Wild daisies across an open field,
Tall prairie grass swaying
Is pictured, visioned longingly
With his strong hand
Pulling her in
Taken, once again

You’ll Know

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You’ll know
It’ll be in the way
She holds you
Her embrace
Heals
Loves without doubt
Believes in
Umbrellas
Open doors
Inside of the sidewalk
Strong hand leading
At the small of her back
Accepting sounds
As answers, a sigh, a groan
Gentle smirk and stern look
Her embrace
Accepts you
And honors
Who you’ve always been
For it is your transparency
She adores
And how your love feels
When she’s against your skin

My Confession 

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T’was not work
Creating you,
Inside my mind.
I felt you arrive,
Every. Single. Time.
Me, creative soul
Turned prima dona, maybe.
Mostly, a simple woman.
You laid upon my heart
With your words.
Not for me, you insisted,
But I took them as my own
Because without them
I was still ordinarily alone.
More than anything,
I didn’t want to be.
A shame,
For I am audacious,
Clearly seeing
Myself now
And I love me.

Vision of Reality

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Across an aquamarine pool
star fairies sparkle and glisten,
a scene of brillance, splediferously true,
found now shimmering upon my fair skin.

Secluded moments live here, too
dancing and guiding are the wisps
throughout the day, into twilight’s hues,
freckles, counted, by way of sun’s kiss, claim me.

Apollo offers to illuminate the view,
his hands sculpting radiance; bronze tones,
as summer temperatures offer proof,
his abilities masterful and, yes, epic.

Cicada’s persistence found romantic,
while evening shades finally filter through,
smell of honeysuckle murmurs to the wind,
hinting to how life could be once alone with you.

May I?

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May I…?

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I have a few words left inside of me, if you listen intently you’ll hear them pleading, “Audrey, write us as poetry.”

Forever the shy one with something to say, yet I return no longer hidden. I humbly ask for grace as I allow my soul the opportunity to speak again.

I miss you. I apologize for being away. My life has changed, but I’m still me. Just now gaining strength and peeking through… My poetry will continue.

Love Always,
Audrey Dawn

I’m Not An Italian Poetess

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Typical Monday, it seems. Tried making lunch, while writing my feelings. Epic fail ensues, as thoughts continue to pursue my mind. Forcing me so easily to forget the time.

Poet’s are always lyrical, definitely this one, it seems. I can’t get past writing this as poetry. Stick a knife in my side. Please, won’t you abide? My friends, don’t write and bake, unless burned pizza is all you’re willing to take. My wishes sincere, once again, don’t do both while planning to eat, you won’t win.

Thankful I have a few other attributes that keep you coming around. Like maybe my smile or even my frowns. Tears shower plenty upon these walls, oh God, stop her before she continues to pitfall.

Laughter begins, oh look, a grin! Yep, tis possible, she’s drunk again. No, my friends, it isn’t so. I’m just handling a Monday, so far as this one goes…

Loyal followers, stay with me, please. This is only going to hurt for a minute. Slap happy grins is how I’ll spin it, you’ll see.

***
She’ll never be an Italian chef
and poetess, too
just look at what
wandering thoughts
can do…

Writer’s multitasking summer,
kitchen’s a wreck,
lovely ideas interrupt
baking, for endless possibilities,
if only I would’ve stopped to check…

This homemade pizza now crisp
and slightly burned, tis true
thankful, in the end
this treat,
is simply a vessel for brew…

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I should go back into the Houston sun. It’s just delightfully hot and humid here. Yeah, I know, I’m almost done. The end is near…

Yours,
Audrey