©2013 Renee Espriu
free now from your pain
to smell everything fragrant
to be running free again
rest well my feline friend
© August 2013
Renee Espriu
Hemingway was 17yrs old and my last feline friend to cross over to something better. He had been in a decline for a time now and, as it pained me to see him go, I have to believe that I did him a service after all.
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sleepless nights
were in the making
for you but
so were dreams lost
in a twist
of corded fate
fevers ran high
with slips of wet hair
plastered
to your face
against a damp pillow
caressing
even in the storm
i look at you now
‘challenging’
each day as a wall
of obstacles
to overcome
rock climbing easy
in comparison
a shine in your eyes
like jewels centered
in chocolate-brown orbs
‘we pick our battles’
you always say
so casual
in a way
it captures my heart
melts me
into a languid pool
i see you struggle
as night falls
a starless black
moonless sea
every day you continue
to show me how
teach me the way
to love me
into being alive
for how could i
not resist
the tilt
of your head
your nose
like no other &
laughter singing
in my ears
as does the sound
of how you call me
‘mama’ smiling
even now when
you have children
of your own
© August 2013
Renee Espriu
I have two very strong, determined daughters who give back to me every day they are here. My oldest continues to merit my admiration as she battles Lupus on her terms and will not let it dictate who she is.
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the arrival of
the Canadians
signals the
changing seasons
© August 2013
Renee Espriu
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i see you dancing
on the floor of the
pizza parlor
a smile playing
across your face
where every note
that is pumped
out of the theatre
pipe organ
embraces you
plys your feet
with rhythm
only you would know
caring not that
eyes are watching
i see you even though
you are gone now
a memory that
spilled out of
the letter you wrote
© August 2013
Renee Espriu
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flocks of geese fly by
in V formation
silhouetted against
the evening sky
a lone heron heedless
of their departure
clouds so close
you can almost hear
their wings brush them
as leaves on trees
and shrubs begin to
show a sprinkling
first of color then
gradually spreading
to cover
as though artists
hidden in the guise
of fairies
have used them as
their canvas
to paint the
coming of Fall
© August 2013
Renee Espriu
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last night I awoke to
large angry raindrops
as tempestuous as a
cold winter’s hail
as thunder rolled
across the night sky
as though trying to
knock over tenpins
amidst lightning strikes
only noticed as the
dark bedroom curtains
began casting shadows
but tonight setting high
in the night sky rests
a sliver of new moon
between gray pillow clouds
© August 2013
Renee Espriu
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reading books is like seeing
endless stories weaving
words of magic
like light filtered
through glass prisms
creating soft rainbows
on the squares of
maple floor that lie
beneath her bare feet
like shifting paradigms
settling adrift as a
snowy blanket of seeds
from cottonwood trees
in Spring
when the rivers run
swift and high
filled with the melting
of snow from Winter
so it is with mixed feelings
that a story ends
as when leaves die and
drift to the ground
in Autumn
she awaits with anticipation
the beginning
of another story
that will weave
words of magic
again
© July 2013
Renee Espriu
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creation of time
runs deep
like flight paths
too deeply settled
beneath the ground
to access
but as they work their
way to the surface
we tenderly
navigate them
holding on
in an effort to soar
to take flight
once again
bringing us
closer to the sun
like tender new
shoots of life
still waiting
awash with expectation
that a new day
will begin
© July 2013
Renee Espriu
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the blacksmith forges
on the anvil
metal striking hot
with the hammer
producing sparks to
create & transform
as so does my spirit
transform my soul
when my muse eases
my gift to create
& the wordsmith
garners words once more
© July 2013
Renee Espriu
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his heart beats strong now
within his small chest
a babe newly born could
hardly find a breath
his clear blue eyes show
a window to his soul
blond hair & dimpled chin
he’s such a dapper fellow
came to dig in my garden
right along his dad’s side
a shovel bigger than he is
accomplishment & pride
even though the work was hard
never was there a complaint
he only asked his mom this
‘how much do kids make?’
© July 2013
Renee Espriu
My seven year old grandson can work hard just like his dad in my garden but he’s smart, this one, as he knows there is a bit of money to be had? Just loved it when he asked. Here’s to you, Wyatt!
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