Open to the calmness
that is our soul,
when it is recognized
and at peace,
we will walk
towards our fate.
Images
Destination
I don’t want to be the girl
Who assumes
Too late for fate
And in the end, for you
I want stars, bright
And a harvest moon
Poetic healing
With a photographic view
Confidence
Her wisdom
Hints towards assurance,
While her eyes reveal
Confusion,
But the light blushing
Across her fair skin
Reveals
Everything.
Healing
Pools of teardrops
Gather
Behind my eyelids
Writing becomes impossible
As the rock in my throat
Forces pain
My voice continues
Yet silent
I begged for this path
It is mine.
Vision of Reality
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.
Quick Update
Hey, all y’all! I know you’re wondering, so I’m giving you an update of sorts. I have new poetry in the morning, but for now a few highlights from the last two months…
His Chest
I came across
With fingers, gently .
Tips to skin
Lingering upon chest,
Muscles strong, aging
Beautifully,
Which held stories
Of life, working
Pain and pleasure.
Thriving heartbeat
Awakened sensations
Within me,
Pump pump pump
Felt. Enjoyed. Eased.
I’d been there before,
Or hadn’t,
But I will be again.
Initiation of Spring
Northern winds, usually sonorous, prepare a mournful tune
wheeling sallow remains,
once bale,
across open fields,
just yesterday.
Almost Always
Hurts me, almost
Always. Remembering.
I knew, almost
Always. The lie.
Pain comes, almost
Always. At daylight.
I fail, almost
Always. Forgetting.
I need, almost
Always. The affirmation.
I am, almost
Always. Enough.
Thinker
Contemplated life
Eternity the distance
Stone faced, sat due west
Break Free
I could write
Of yesterday
And the pain it caused,
Or continue to cry
Over what was lost,
Either one overburdened
And neither,
Change anything.
Feeling
do you remember, feeling
the soft brush of a whisper
upon your neck?
gentle thaw of shivers
frozen’s early revealing
i’ll never forget
Precious Gift
ornamental treasure,
fruit of strength, a beauty,
the intendment.
enduring winter’s touch,
one’s arranged depletion,
should’ve changed her, did.
timber’s forbidden release,
her lifeline, clinging,
precious she will remain.
Duenna
Affluence of purification
Continue reading
Shall We Continue
Purple hues and hushed tones
Obediently inspire a poetess
For as light is required of day
Poetry eases through one’s soul
So who am I to deny life,
Might we humbly continue?
Impression
There may be nothing else
Quite like her, beaming
Willing to arch within sunlight,
Spectacular favor.
Candied flora exposed, impressionable, it seems.
Truth be told, if you watch
Her heart exudes passion,
Quite instinctively, efflorescence,
life’s luxury.
I Offered Myself To You
Thoughtful and creative words
Full of thankfulness,
Reflect me, as a woman
Appreciative of being heard.
These gifts
Are nothing in comparison
To my submission
As I offered myself to you.
I waited a long time to be seen
Through your poetic eyes
Read my poetry, and find clearly
I felt you long before you arrived.
***
Thank you for listening,
Aud
Pain
I watched her
the pain in her eyes
the grip she had on the handle
white knuckled
slowly departing
caving to her mind
yet, feeling her heart
fight right back
tears wiped
smudged across her cheek
watching through
a rainy mirrored day
as she slowly becomes me
incapable of allowing
what her soul needs
I’m Not An Italian Poetess
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…
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
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 