***The Star Second To The Right***

In a time primordial when first life began
unimaginative of the harsh realities of wars
when sunrises and sunsets were ethereal
she can only imagine stepping into dreams
of discovering an unblemished world of those
dreams made of translucent skies so that
much like Peter all she has to do is to go
to the star second to the right and straight
on till morning or perhaps like Alice she
should eat but a small bit of cake to become
just the right size to enter the garden
there upon discovering a different world
for in seeing forever is the powerful force
where oceans teeming with life are no longer
a graveyard of war ships but only coral reefs
a delightful dance of colors and creatures
and where gardens floral are wondrous delights
for children playing for hate is not a word
so cannot invade her dreams that will always
be pristine as newly fallen snow in Winter
with skies so clear she can revel to see them all
from anywhere to blissfully fly to the star second
to the right and straight on till morning

© June 2017 Renee Espriu

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday prompt. You can read more of other poet’s responses at https://jamiededes.com/2017/06/21/the-hawk-has-flown-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File and digitized by myself.

Second Star

***Spring Beckons***

The birds tremble in the cold morning air
wings flutter beneath the leafy boughs

the air is shot through with bird song
like tiny meteorites dancing in the sky

reminding me that the warmth of Spring
beckons in tiny increments of beauty

as the small pink flowers of succulents
peek out smiling with miniature faces

the tiniest flowers of heather in bloom
for weeks despite the daunting cold

for each morning the bird song’s chorus
awakens me and gives my spirit wings

© February 2017 Renee Espriu

Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Digitized by Myself

song-bird

 

***DO YOU HEAR THE ANGELS CRYING***

Even if a million tomorrows come and go
as sun shining brightly we still will know
of the anger fueled by hatred replacing
blood running in some men’s veins
do you hear the angels crying
do you really, do you know

When the sun rises in the morning sky
scorching dry the blood left running
that seeped into the nightclub floor
into the walls and into the doors
will you hear the angels crying
do you really, do you know

There doesn’t have to be more killing
chilling headlines repeated in the news
of children dead in classrooms who
could have lived to change some views
do you hear the angels crying
do you really, do you know

Each time a trigger is pulled on a gun
mothers & fathers cry out their anguish
as do others left alone to languish
brothers, sisters, sons and daughters
will you hear the angels crying
do you really , do you know

Whether it is in a darkly lit theater
or on a dimly lit nightclub dance floor
college campus or elementary school room
they all breathed last where we found them
do you hear the angels crying
do you really, do you know

© June 2016
Renee Espriu

Image is Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

Crying Angel

How many people have to die in senseless wars, in mass killings before the human race decides to quell their fears founded in ignorance and make decisions based on being informed. There are those factions around the world who encourage fear and that fear is the fuel for hatred of things not understood. Each person should have the freedom to whatever religion they choose be it different from another. Each person, no matter the lifestyle lived or disability they may have, should be able to live without fear of those others whose fear comes from the hatred that has been fueled by some few, who themselves, fear what they do not understand.

I have many Gay friends who have enriched my life with their presence in it. This post is for them and for those in Florida who suffered the loss of sons, brothers, husbands or friends. They were all loved and cared about and will be missed as will all that were enjoying their company and also lost their lives, a mother, a sister, friends.

Let me clarify that this is not only about one group of people in our society, in societies around the world. This is about all people in all walks of life. I am a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, have had the opportunity in the past (some might never have) of attending college. My own children and their children have all attended public schools and some college. We all enjoy going to places in the public sector where people gather. Any of these people, both children and adults, could have been mine or yours.

This is also not about religious beliefs for the people of Islam do not believe nor condone violence. This is about one man’s anger and dislike for others and his fear of something he did not understand. It is unfortunate that the law still allows individuals to purchase automatic weapons, which are weapons of war, and until a law is passed that makes them illegal to obtain more of these situations will occur. Of course, there will always be those who will come by them illegally but at least it would make it more difficult for any one individual to act upon his/her anger.

I am a writer and have not been one to jump on any platform but this incident touched me to the core of my being as a human being. If nothing else, I have felt compelled to write something, which I hope will be of value to some.

******Dissolving Pearls******

adrift on the tide of time
ebbing and receding quickly now
dissolving pearls seen
as minutes of time
becoming particles of sand
an hourglass known
to be tailored to each one

recognition briefly still here
the brightness of a smile
a twinkle in the eye
checking memories each one
to know they do remain

a lucky penny catches the eye
it is quickly snatched up
deposited in a pocket
a mockingbird song entertains
sun up to sun down
each note a suggestion…
of something

the sadness finally dissipated
as a rain now a fine mist
settling but only briefly
the sun always bringing
a warmth to the soul
a new day beginning

looking around for the familiar
knowing it is there
just beneath a hazy morning
burning off in the heat of day
where all is now clear
the years only an illusion
and youth just beginning

© June 2014 Renee Espriu

Visiting dad always has the variable of “what if” involved. Now at 90 plus years of age and due to mild to moderate dementia, dad has good days and not so good, and through it all he still perseveres and manages to get through every day no matter what.

Image Taken From Morgue File

Dissolving Pearls

Mockingbird’s Yearning

wee small hours of the morning        
call to me with the voice of
the Mockingbird’s yearning

calling out lyrics and notes
not his own but achingly
captured in his own throat

darkness hiding winged form
musical song simply rising
listen to quell the storm

awaken your soul come with me
symphony, sonnet now mine
taken to sing so lovingly

there he is with stolen song
trilling with great pleasure
beckoning me to sing along

creating light in the night sky
patterned prism colors rising
rapt audience of one sublime

longing for a song of his own
to widen the net of listeners
as though his voice has flown

but he knows only other’s muse
so claim them he does one by one
singing again without any ruse

wee small hours of the morning
call to me with the voice of
the Mockingbird’s yearning

© June 2012
Renee Espriu

During my visit here in sunny Southern California I was awakened to the sound of this beautiful creature’s song like no other. The Mocking Bird has no song of his own but when he sings all the songs of all the other birds it is as though a resonate sound of an orchestra has filled the morning hours.

The Briefcase

Every morning waiting for the rail
carrying his briefcase with a look
indicative of appearances with
dress slacks, warm coat and slighty
worn dress shoes to show sometimes
clean, sometimes wrinkled, a look
overly tired and too apprehensive

Every morning riding up the hill to
debark and walk ever so slowly up
to unknown destinations to a job
not really there to return every
night to ride the rail down the hill
to carry his briefcase to another
place, a pillow used beneath his head

© September 2011 Renee Espriu

Every day this gentleman rides the rail with me but after watching him for a time it did not take long to notice that the briefcase is merely something hopeful.  I don’t believe he really even has a home.

The Morning

Answers to questions queried a
thousand times ten infinitely
more difficult coming back in
emptiness dry as a corn husk
without the embodiment of
the kernels within

She just wanted the pain to be
wrapped in softness of a
satin robe pushing away the
unknown as in darkest night
moonless permeating her
skin, invading her mind

Always the same response came
whenever she faced them to
wait until the morning for rays
of light unveiling all hidden but
inside she knew that the
morning might never come

© April 2011 Renee Espriu