The Wind

The wind whips the juniper against the window.

The blue bird feeder sways and bobs,

Dumping its contents to the ground.

The chickens will be along in the morning

To clean up the spoils.

 

I find myself drawn into a memory,

Of us as kids in the U-Pump-It gas station,

Joining hands in a circle,

Willing the wind to blow.

We wanted our youthful magic to travel.

 

That was so many moons ago.

Now I wake to hear the wind at night,

And the magic has been blown aside,

Now my mind is on practical matters,

Like how my trees and fences will fair.

 

I long to find the fascination of my youth.

To remember to stand in the wind,

My hair twisting and stinging my face,

To remember the power in the wind,

The magic that it sends.

Free Time
What would you do?

If you had all the free time you crave?

What would you change?

Why don’t you do it, now?

TV stole your eyes.

Music stole you ears.

Never time to start.

Never time to finish.

You must change yourself.

Free time is yours when you decide – 

Decide to free your time.

Freedom

Freedom is the popular girl at the party,

She sings and dances,

But at the end of the night –

She decides who she is taking home.

At the end of the night –

Freedom is not for everyone.

Some may say she scans the crowd for the alphas,

But she cozies up to everyone for a time,

Some more briefly than others.

I think her taste is more discerning, or perhaps selfish.

I think she likes those that dance with her.

I think she favors those who also sing.

A pity that Freedom misses out –

on those who didn’t have dance lessons,

those with a tone-deaf ear.

Freedom misses out on the wallflower.

Maybe I can help her see –

The beauty in the forgotten people.

They deserve a little time with Freedom too.

March
He met his wife for the first time today,

Though they had been together for years.

She was no longer her father’s daughter,

The way they had remembered her.

She bent low, lacing up her sneakers,

Hair pulled back, out of her way.

Out of her way indeed.

Something shifted in her gonna take it,

Until it was fully positioned in her ain’t takin’ it no more.

For all these differences, she felt more herself than she had ever before.

One foot in front of the other in a sea of sisters.

Filling up the cracks of her broken teacup heart,

Until it was full to overflowing.

She was ready.

This is now.

Monday Haiku

Monday, up early

To run late all afternoon.

The sky is deep blue.

Hot coffee morning,

Banging in the kitchen –

Don’t you know the sun is out?

It has been three days.

Ziggi’s is busy this morning,

But I find a table near the plug on the wall,

Just in case.

 

I miss the 40 inch tall

Standing tables,

They made long Sunday mornings divine.

Now my hip pinches my nerve

And sciatica screams down my leg and

Back up –

Hard wood chairs.

My friend folds a thick sweater to tuck

Underneath,

Against the hard,

A woolen barrier.

 

The next table is where

the best sellers are written,

On Sunday mornings,

While I neglect

Three or more books I’ve started

To daydream,

A sip hot coffee.