Sleep

November 7, 2021November 7, 2021

Pressed Leaves In Time

Leaves pressed along and upon the road

rain soaked to become part of the landscape

pressed as though escaping from the pages

of a book long forgotten but still intrinsic

to a life lived, a day spent, a moment laden

in a time shared, a smile revealed still seen

in the mind’s eye with each passing year

to be held close in each raindrop that falls

leaves pressed not by human hand’s folly

but the unleashed presence of nature

pressed down by passing cars and in time

imprints of feet beneath a crunch of tires

pressed down but not between the pages

of sentimentality to be treasured in time

for with time these leaves will fade away

once part of life and will be once again

they are now integral to our landscape

sleeping a long awaited death in dying

a pause to give life a continuing cycle

time to breathe & wait for color again

while lone sentinel ferns see in silence

once a vibrant green they hold dying leaves

now a weathered color of red-orange rust

fronds curled in sadness under gray skies

knows their life is a reflection of leaves

pressed down in the road and the ground

it breathes a sigh unheard but for the wind

knowing in Spring life will come & find them

© November 2021 Renee Espriu

My Photo Transformed

February 3, 2019

Dreaming of Change

Dreams live within our sleeping hours
touching our waking time
some slightly caressing
barely touching

while others create undulating pain
creating harbingers of fear
of longing and want

all innately attached to spirits
woven tightly inside our souls
like tiny invisible creatures
tugging and pulling
this way
and that

whispering changes in our ears
then shouting in our faces
when we refuse to hear

leveling the playing ground
like a bulldozer
passing through

for change always prevails
beginning as a dream
touching our skin
like a wisp of breeze

Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Created As Art

Changes and Dreams

May 31, 2018June 1, 2018

Purveyor of Dreams

Photo Taken From Public Domain Pictures & Digitally Created as Art

Dream Purveyor

I am not a purveyor of dreams
for sleepless nights are undressed
and shorn of innocence
peppered weary of thoughts
like thorns

not even scented with night orchids
nor born of water lilies nocturne
viewed less in colored
prisms dim

for I do not fly weightless
high above the earth
casting giant shadows
beneath the light of the moon
revealing me integral
in the realm
of hope
of desire

I cannot be the purveyor of dreams
for life’s knowing opens
only to one garnering dreams
in nights deepest sleep
with orchids fragrant
and water lilies
a buoy for the ecstasy
of flight

Perhaps the purveyor of dreams
is illusive, a hidden vestige
of night’s firmament
for to purvey dreams
one must hold onto them
one must dream

December 23, 2017December 23, 2017

Ethereal Notes

Melodious Notes

The piano notes not my own

floating ethereal around me

speak of lullabies played

soothing tiny souls to sleeping

vestiges of the golden moments

when a youthful heart dreamt being

bright-colored fancied whimsy

silver spun silken blossoms

to be woven into a shining dawn

in sun rays spilling rainbows

resplendent new and undone

for as the notes dance before me

the hours softly melting away

reiterates life’s fluctuations

not crafted to make my own

Image taken from Public Domain Pictures and digitally altered by myself.

July 11, 2017

She always thought of time as that of a thief in the night. As she lays sleeping it will silently and quickly take minutes, hours, days, months and years from her already long life. She wakes in the morning feeling as though she has lost something, misplaced during the moments of tiredness before she lays down to sleep. It will come to her, certainly, and she will find that which is lost is still within her reach. But the worrisome object of her concern does not appear.

She goes about her day watching the telltale signs that she is late for an appointment. Perhaps the sun is too high in the sky now, there are far too many people already busy about their day. The air once coolish, settling on her skin and the tiny drops of moisture from the marine layer of air, has warmed urging her to shed her hoody to expose her arms to the sun’s rays. She parks her car as quickly as a full parking lot will allow her and approaches the seven story building. After traversing the steps she enters the door and takes the elevator up. But, no, she is on time for the ritualistic drawing of blood to tell her that her blood in neither too thick nor too thin. A small price to pay for her gift of life orchestrated by a synthetic valve within her chest.

constant ticking clock
radiant sound
within a beating heart

She walks into the afternoon sun and views her surroundings. She is always surprised and amazed she is still here to view the horizon as though she is seeing it for the first time and is only now stepping into her life.

December 22, 2013

**Between Dusk & Dawn*

i am caught
between dusk & dawn
the sandman a shadow
touching my back
all illusion and mist
both nemesis & muse
while i am his pawn

he steps just behind me
with a sprinkling of sand
each particle holding sleep
in the palm of his hand

he holds the power & ability
for me to create
dusk left behind me
as nights’ path to dawn
& the sunlight’s open gate

By Jorgeyu/Morgue File

March 12, 2013March 12, 2013

My Need To Fly

Google Image

I have written this for dVerse a bit late and realize it won’t be posted there now as the link has expired but I was taken by Gretchen’s idea of music and wanted to put this out there in any case. Please listen to this song that has given me such pleasure to listen to and I hope you will see how it impacted my writing here. Thank You!
http://www.metrolyrics.com/who-i-was-born-to-be-video-susan-boyle.html

do you live in the shadows
as i have done so wanting
to please who would
guide but from

a distance above as
you walk a tightrope
i did many years for
i always hoped

acceptance would come
in palpable ways to
amaze me and show me
my path was not grey

ambivalence filled with
the need to sleep when a
well meant prayer struck
fear ‘my soul to keep’

where the days took me
on a journey of my
own making and never
would i be forsaking

my need to fly to the
heavens above to create
all that my heart dreamed
of for it is sad it came

when she left this earth
to finally release me to
soar unburdened as i
move ever forward

my muse now nurtures
the wordsmith that was
once all but broken
the letters form words

that spill forth in
treasure to give my soul
long-awaited pleasure
conjuring melodies

seldom heard a display of
fireworks in rainbow
colors i walk my path in
awe and it has occurred

that life is still here and
i have not missed it as
i dance with it now as
i live in the moment

This is for dVerse Poets Pub http://dversepoets.com/category/tag/interact/

August 23, 2012

Quintessential

quintessential rhythms of life
pull at her like unforseen
threads tight and strong
like the chubby tiny fingers
connected to grasping arms

of all the children in her
past, present and future
calling her name as tears
were shed or laughter came
as words calmed their fears

quintessential rhythms of life
like breathing out and in
waking with each sun streaked
sky to watch patient each day
for the moon that will rise
to bring sleep’s calm sway

hoping that energy comes alive
as she wakes again dreaming
of bits and pieces of life
a reel on a camera fast forward
traveling at the speed of light

each year pages flipped in a
book the story not finished but
look and be quick as six decades
creep silent a tendriled vine
quintessential rhythms of life

Some people have grief over reaching age 30, 40 or even 50. Those were easy for me but this year is a milestone 60 years fast approaching and it is my turn to feel as though life has gone way too fast. Writing always helps.