Sun – Page 4

July 17, 2017July 17, 2017

A Siren Wailing For No Reason

The sun had risen high in the blue sky
over rolling hills of farm country
causing a dry heat much as the roiling
heat of the home of her childhood
produced in waves upon asphalt streets

she knew the howl of a siren near by in
the close distance as she sat visiting
with her son her terrier mix at her feet
and he saw her puzzled look asking why
to glean the meaning of that sound now

for she recalled a time years past
in the elementary school days now gone
the drills that came, of getting down
upon the floor to hide beneath her desk
with her hands upon her head to wait

but as the memory flashed upon her face
her son smiled to say the neighbor
who lives not far likes to hear the siren
wailing as it does for not a reason
but he hears it every afternoon of a day

so she smiles with him to recall those
drills of her youth and hoping as she did
that her desk might shield her from harm
for it might come with her eyes shut tight
the all clear was given & she breathed a sigh

This post is is response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt. You can see more of other poet’s responses at https://jamiededes.com/2017/07/12/at-the-dead-of-noon-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. I visited my son recently in the town of Ritzville which has a very small populace, a very large granary and railroad tracks running through town carrying all manner of things from lumber to oil to grain and much more. But the one thing that made me take note was the siren which someone sets to wailing every day. Brings back memories and for some of you it may spark your own and for others perhaps not but I hope you enjoy the read. The photo is of my son’s house which I have digitally altered for this post.

A Sound of Siren

July 11, 2017

Radiant Sound

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.

June 5, 2017September 2, 2017

The Season of Becoming

Is this the Winter of her discontent as with
Shakespeare the world around might seem one
that is indifferent to her sadness that age
has besieged her but no it is not so harsh
as the icy cold winds and snow harboring
a breath that will not seek to warm her skin

for it has become like the Season of Summer
where the warming rays of the sun stretches wide
to cover the new growth from Spring that offers
new bright green leaves that will be transformed
into variations of darker greens providing shade
to all of nature’s life beneath boughs of trees

who watch as life is born from tiny tadpoles
becoming frogs to the larvae of dragonflies to
a multitude of birds peering from the safety of eggs
to all beginning a journey of grand proportions
where Fall will see a quiet settling in to harvest
and rest amidst the beauty of all that has become

for stepping into the Winter of her life she now sees
her discontent not as a sadness but as one of observing
all that has come before, all that has become who she is
for it is another beginning and one of transformations
that will show her all the brilliance of her colors
enabling doors to naught hidden as opening to reveal

This is in response to Jamie Dedes’s Wednesday writing prompt. Please read more of the other poets’ replies at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/31/in-time-displaced-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. The photo below was taken from the Morgue File and digitized by myself.

Tulips in Snow

May 29, 2017September 2, 2017

Glistening Bits of Gold

On a day where time stands still she sees
each quintessential increment of time
like the sun hitting tiny seed pods that
have fallen on the street glistening as
tiny bits of gold sparkling as jewels
that offset the black asphalt street
turning the harsh landscape of tar into
that of a black silken cape waiting
to be garnered by nature’s queen as
she strolls the avenue bending only
momentarily to gaze lovingly at all that
she has made from the beauty of flowers
orange as the poppy to that of the shrubs
close to the ground shading tiny insects
to the majesty of towering evergreens
she becomes entwined in the moment and
she is ensconced and feels content

© May 2017 Renee Espriu

This is in response to Jamie Dede’s Wednesday Prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/05/24/the-sun-is-in-love-with-me-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt. Please do visit to read other poets’ response. The photo below is my own.

Orange Poppies

April 23, 2017September 2, 2017

Flight of A Fashion

She traveled north
with her husband she chose
based on society’s mores
his decision accepted based
on her need to fly

trading asphalt and concrete
for a similar landscape
peppered with evergreens

leaving behind her self
melting in the heat of day
preparing for a rain cleansing
her of tainted memories

she traded her self-identity
with the prospect of years
rearing children alone
in unfamiliar landscape
needing to fly

always tethered & wings clipped
by a ritual of custom
her wings a rainbow

coloring her inside and out
brightened by the sun
dampened by the rain
her self conflicted interests

birds fly home to roost and nest
innate to their very being
so each time she returned to
her place of birth she
fell into memories

coming to know her colored feathers
of self would always remain
inside no matter
the need to fly

This is in response to Jamie Dedes’s Wednesday prompt at https://jamiededes.com/2017/04/19/the-same-old-self-delusions-a-poem-and-your-wednesday-writing-prompt/comment-page-1/. The photo below is taken from the Morgue file and digitized by myself.

Colored Flight

January 1, 2017September 2, 2017

Gracious Hearts

I am humbled this past year
by those with helping hands
those with gracious hearts
whose first thought is
of others

those who meet each day’s sun
though hidden behind clouds
as though its’ shine alone
is not gray but silver lining

each moment & thought they have
like pressed leaves & flowers
in the pages of their memory
resilient as though just picked
of others

I am mindful of how they sweep
the path I walk with their grace
imbued of soft colors filling up
the empty space left with love

these others with helping hands
who walk as angels amongst us
with gracious hearts aiding my own
I hold up each moment I breathe
as I think of others

My best to all of you in 2017 and may a New Year bring you in company with the angels amongst us. Thank you for stopping by for I am always glad our paths have crossed. The Image here is Taken From the Morgue File & Digitized by Myself.

one-path

December 17, 2016September 2, 2017

More Than A Gift

The gift arrived in my twelfth year
while I was being taught
the accumulation of others’
knowledge in books

during the course of another day
bright sun rays dancing
off concrete and asphalt
dust devils creating havoc
in the schoolyard

the joy on my face evident
upon seeing the Spinet
a large red bow dressing
its’ glossy maple surface
waiting for me
beckoning me

playing the white and black keys
that struck the harp within
a euphoria like no other
healing hidden pain

she had no idea of what time spent
scrimping pennies had done
to raise hopes in a world
changed forever
the year I was ten

the station wagon had lingered
a massive tangled wreck
on the cement driveway
a constant reminder
that a body cannot
always be fixed

I played the Spinet as though
my life depended on it
the music resonating
louder than my heart

the gift arrived in my twelfth year
cradling my hands
as though warm loving arms
helping me to breathe
to lift a wounded spirit
giving space to heal

This has been posted first on Jamie Dede’s site The Bezine at https://thebezine.com/project-type/the-bezine-vol-3-issue-3-december-15-2016. Please do visit and read more posts on this issue’s topic “The Healing Power of The Arts”.

Image Take From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

peace-of-music

December 7, 2016September 2, 2017

A Breath of Wind and A Dew Drop

I am part of something greater than myself
some would call God and others Goddess
or perhaps Buddha,Allah,Jehovah or Shiva

something greater as the breath of the wind
breathing life into all that exists
as the raindrops falling, filling the oceans
becoming rivers, lakes and waterfalls

something greater as simple as a dewdrop
clinging to my skin in the early hours of morn
as it clings to the leaves and spider webs

something greater even as the universe spins
holding within it pinpoints of light
from an ominous burning star that is the sun
moonbeams full of the wonder of stardust

I am a part of that something greater even
as it exhales in anguish breathing as the wind
creating devastating storms of despair

causing the oceans to rise up flooding the
banks of land, becoming hurricanes
and I hear and feel them all because I
am part of something greater

I know the sigh of relief breathed into a breeze
a rainbow after storms the colors of hope
shining through a waterfall because I am

part of something greater

Photo Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

great-as-a-dewdrop

October 21, 2016September 2, 2017

Visualize The Raindrops Pausing

i visualize in the warmth of the sun
or in the darkest hours of night

healing is held in the gift of seeing

i see between the wind blown leaves
pause each raindrop as it is falling

everything stops but my breathing

i listen to the silence all around
even in the midst of all the chaos

molecules of life touching gently

i close my eyes for a moment in between
for dreamers will always be dreaming

music notes orchestrate birth and death

i feel the strings of instruments hold me
soft as satin and stronger then webs of silk

healing is found in a moment of peace

i visualize oceans and mountains colliding
creating new life as gentle flowering buds

death can never be the ultimate ending

i see myself walking an ocean shoreline
by the still spray of a wave before it crashes

peace is standing between raindrops as they pause

i see there briefly a place my mind rests
devoid of wars, disease, famine and otherness

healing is held in the gift of seeing

what could be if only for a moment in time

Image Taken From Morgue File & Digitized by Myself

pausing-raindrops

This was first published at the Bezine where you can read more posts on their current topic of Rituals For Peace, Healing and Unity at https://intothebardo.wordpress.com.