
sweet pastels arrive
through my bedroom window,
finches giggle on
without a care,
springtime may blossom
after all,
as eager leaves on trees
relax, dutifully prepare.

sweet pastels arrive
through my bedroom window,
finches giggle on
without a care,
springtime may blossom
after all,
as eager leaves on trees
relax, dutifully prepare.

feminine misfortune is
believing
but not enough
in herself,
the act of giving
yet missing
the gift,
created for soft
when circumstance
requires strength,
waiting at the back
humble, unaware if
it’s already too late
For the girls who wish they could just take, but lack, no not lack, but were created differently, we’re going to be fine. Sweet has her place. ♡

overwhelmed with responsibility
I listen to the rain fall for hours early this morning.
not a bird rejoices
as dawn breaks, although hidden
but the train travels through
twice, horn insistent.
strong coffee brews,
snowflakes appear
beauty automatic,
like women with blue eyes
and goldenrod hues of hair.
a tantrum wouldn’t fix
what’s inside my head,
use the wisdom and
traits God gave me
stop worrying about
what’s changing.
snowflakes fall
white covers the ground
my lilies now
curled back in fear,
winter refuses to leave
and I wish you were here.

her heart isn’t shattered
it’s defeated,
depths of its final
landing, unknown
to many.
but to those who
greet her,
the many who
survive the fall,
they’ve found the truths in and of love
and have vowed
to show her

flush, is her flower
timid, yet she’ll grow.
ruddy, her spirit,
and you adore
how it’s shown.
innocence is her
mind’s essence,
full beauty yet to be shown.

your presence flows
through sensually,
nourishing, like Water
to a young flower,
if only you could
see how good you are
for my soul,
you’d never leave
and become eternally lost
in leaving your mark,
within me, while
devouring my
submissive
and pleasing spirit,
one I surrender with joy,
for you, only.

Spending the morning with my father while he has chemo. Thrilled to share this day with him.
***
Sharing an old post of mine, which came to mind this morning as I wait, yeah it’s about a couple’s anniversary but passes for a nice birthday surprise, as well. Who doesn’t like cake?
Thank you for the love and prayers. Miss y’all. ♡

can’t make someone love
there’s a song about that
no amount of wishes or musts
can drown out the doubt
move on, go forward
that’s all one can do, cause
if wishes were granted
then I’d already have you

he’s the sunset she waits for
when nothing goes right
he’s the kiss on her cheek
at the end of the night
she’s all he’s ever needed
is what she knows he’ll say
she’s just as she should be,
I want to be them someday

the moment our entire world
shrinks and becomes
every touch you wish had been
possible
and pray it isn’t too late
to reach out for them
Continue reading

my fear is
I’m not suppose to write,
with want in my eyes
my worry lasts
until you’ve smoothed it away,
I’ll wait, forever and a day

sentimental
not a weakness
just she, simply
***
Spring snow fall
Nervous driver
Magical day
***
Mountains whisper
Inspiration
Verdant sleeping
***
Comfortable
Wandering here
Her blessing now

She loved the way he stared,
As if looking through her very soul
Captivated by her,
Deciding whether or not
To devour her whole

I hate myself
a little bit
more
when I apologize
for who
I am
***A little background for a poem I’m sure will leave you wondering.

I may not wholeheartedly agree with this man’s first two sentences or the last thought on this subject, but the meat in the middle is the woman I continue to see when I look in the mirror. The only woman I’ve ever wanted to be…
I’m sorry I’ve been quiet as of late. There hasn’t been much room in my head for poetry.
I’ve missed y’all so much.
~Aud

for today
what could be
waits for a spark,
her sparkle, really.
the marrow of her sigh,
born of her bashful smile,
is one he committed to memory,
unsure of how soon it would return.

she covers herself in blankets her Mamma made whether twenty years ago
or just last week
the thought of safety comforts me
every morning there’s a whistle at eight o’clock sharp
in this town where she
was raised
the example of reliability soothes me
And then, just like that
there’s a ceiling fan she cannot figure out how to shut off
its a reminder of her inability
while in the bedroom
criticism flows far too easily for me
stepping out into the world with nature surrounding her senses
there’s a peace released
acceptance implied
worthiness arrives to remind me
I imagine your arms
Wrapping
The way they must hold her
Your touch offered
Encouraging her to dream
Believing
Your words encourage me
Similarly
Poetic Misery