I was thinking of another time some years ago when I lived in Daly City just outside of San Francisco and drove to work in part on the coast highway. I worked in San Francisco a brief time but have some good memories.

The morning bereft of color
mist defying gravity
horizon an eerie miasma
begins slowly lifting
blue sky curtain unfurling

as I traverse down Highway 1
past multi colored stuccoes
towering green pines reveling
shot through with slivers
of brilliant sun rays yellow

dancing on a topaz colored hood
as I leisurely drive to work
in my four door sedan ride
past shell littered beaches
covered with gulls grey white

the waves of the seething ocean
craftily sewn seamlessly
midnight blues and pthalo green
topped with foamy white brew
a quilted blanket for the sea

© July 2016 Renee Espriu

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

Sun Yellow


On the mountains of Washington
fields of wildflowers
cut a swath through my memory
as do the sandy beaches
my native California bearing

Inspiration comes in slices
not always the juiciest fruit
my muse won’t be blighted
by the guise of petulant youth

I sought solace in all beauty
the thundering of a waterfall
the perpetual volley of waves
speechless innuendoes calling
only a tumultuous roar

Nature has become my mistress
breathing soothing sultry calm
capturing a dissident muse
held within her arms

© July 2016
Renee Espriu

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself


The Hummingbird trolls
looking for the sweet taste
of nectar

the vibration
of its’ beating wings
keeping rhythm with
its’ beating heart

a group of Piping Plovers
walk quickly in unison
across the sand’s surface

their nervous movement
hurried and rapid as
a flash of light
a wave crashing
on the shore

creatures reminding me
of my own beating heart
that nearly betrayed

given a chance to beat again
keeping time with each step
so I can once again see
a Hummingbird and the Plover

© July 2016
Renee Espriu

Image Taken From Morgue File Digitized by Myself

Beating Hearts

Fireworks have already begun
booming, sizzling sounds
coming from the stadium
coming from the neighborhood

Freedom can be many things
the sweet taste of chocolate
the smell of hot coffee
hearing music in nature

Freedom is found in writing
in the need to have opinion
to worship or not as a choice
to be part or not in everything

Freedom is being accepted
in the world around you
to accept others in your world
to not cause harm in needing it

Fireworks will begin after dark
lighting up the sky in brilliance
reminding those who need freedom
there are still places to find it

© July 2016
Renee Espriu

My hope is that for all those who are searching for freedom that it is found in all the places you might not have thought it would be.

Searching For Freedom

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

No longer do I count life in years holding dreams
of newness of a younger love when each day
spilled over in the smell of scented flowers
when the air after the rain fell spoke
of clean, sweet beginnings and new meanings

I now count life in tomorrows obliged of sun
with nights counting blankets of stars
where they meet at dawn and part company
knowing there cannot be one without another

No, I no longer count life in years that promise
with the energy of youth who cannot wait for
hours nor even minutes as they peer at clocks
eager anticipation of the next moment
and the next and the next never knowing

That the time comes when tomorrows will become
as cocoons breaking open to free butterflies
the warmth of the sun as welcome as the rain
and the night a time of dreamt memories

Now I count life in every tomorrow promising
that there is another day in sun or rain
with nights in the company of radiant stars
with hope in becoming as butterflies
regaling in the nectar of scented flowers

© July 2016
Renee Espriu

Image Taken From The Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

Butterfly Nectar

She does not know if she will ever fly
or be like the bird long pinioned
whose wings no longer give her flight
but keeps the world beyond her reach
like raindrops on the window pane

Will she be the lady tied fast with ropes
to the bow of the sailing ship
to briefly raise her upturned arms
and reach beyond the waves
to touch the horizon’s slip

Can she be free of her pinioned wings
and be feathered of color once more
in the childlike quest to reach and dream
will she ever fly to distant shores

Or will she drown in the expanse
of salt licked foam brine
and find no purchase to hold her

Until her wings are pinioned no more
and she spreads her arms again
to once more find her soul can soar
removed of all its’ fetters

She will ride sun rays and moon beams
threaded brilliant with tiny stars
in the sky she can thus be with them
for it will only then be true
she will know she can surely fly

© June 2016
Renee Espriu

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

Flight of Bird

She learned from youth on
to mind the dust and
to always clean thus
with order in mind

for every Saturday was time
to take vacuum in hand
with dust rags plenty
to clean with a flurry

let there be no mistake
as the minutes ticked by
no particle of dust
should be left behind

so to this very day
in order to hear her muse
neatness & order will prevail
or havoc of thought pursue

if floors are not cleaned
or dishes washed to put away
her muse will not come
she will wait another day

@ June 2016
Renee Espriu

I have yet decided again to construe my own take on the Wednesday prompt at Jamie Dede’s site https://musingbymoonlight.com/ showing what it is like to be very obsessive/compulsive when it comes to keeping everything neat and in order and still try to write. It is no wonder my muse and I have a bit of a time getting together.

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

Clean and Organized


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