Life in progress

Tag Archives: poem


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unbucket list

Need some cheering up? Read this lovely, inspiring poem by Candy! šŸ˜€

Candace's avatarrhymeswithbug

I will not make a buck-
et list
all things Iā€™d like to do
someday

then tick them off
one by one
until my bucketā€™s
empty and I am left

instead I will drop some-
thing into my bucket
each day
a kind deed, an adventure

with a four year-old,
a trip, a concert, an un-
expected email,
lunch with a friend

oh, Iā€™m sure there will be big
surprises in my bucket too
and when I reach the end
of this life

I will spill out all the
wonders my bucket
holds, smiling in
gratitude for my full bucket

ā€”ā€”

Just Jot It January ā€“ bucket list

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a boulder & a stone

What a lovely thought. We all uphold one another…


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Open Your Eyes

Open your eyes
to swirls
patterns

and diamonds
droplets

Jewels of nature
right outside your door.

(Click on the pictures. You know you want to.)


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Singular

Dandy
You are unique. I know you wish you weren’t. I know you don’t want to be thought of as different, but the fact is that you are.

There are not thousands of you, or even hundreds. There is you.

No one else thinks the way you do. No one looks like you or sees the things you see in exactly the way you see them.

No one even smells like you; you are sweeter than the rest.

When you go, the people who have known you will grieve, but they will also learn to smile. They will remember the joy with which you illuminated everyone around you.

Be proud to be unique. And know that the way you touch the earth is precious.


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Haiku

Japanese doll

Gossamer Dream

Placed in morning light
Draped in gossamer wishes
I kneel to your pyre


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A Letter to my Main Character

Dear Stephen,

You were a magician before I ever met you. Nevertheless, I handed you your tricks; your wand, your cards and your bunnies to be pulled from hats.Ā  It was serendipity that you met the love of your life. I didn’t expect you to show up any more than she did. But oh, how I discovered you. We discovered you.

I’ve seen you through many troubles, frights and flights, I watched you dance and fall in love, I saw your joy and your pain. You surprised me and you caused me grief. Most of all I saw you grow as a man. You blossomed before my very fingertips.

Now you have outgrown me. You’re ready to move on. Though perhaps we’ll meet again in another tale, I have to let you go. I am happy to say it was a natural break. You have a life to live that doesn’t need me to tell it.

For now.

Giving away your smile
Your precious crooked grin
Fills me with pride and sorrow
In almost equal measures

Selfish is the heart who wonā€™t let go
Allowing your wings to spread
You donā€™t need me
Though I created you from scratch

Grown and changed
You look upon me now with love
For what I have given
You have given me much more in return

Sakurai as Stephen Dagmar


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Dawn

Promise from sunrise springs

a new day brings

the sunImage


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Wasted Time

To rest alone within leisurely time
A well wasted space of unhidden bidding
To take up the taste of weightless encumbrance
The hours tick by without lifting a hand.

The eons of thoughts which pass through this pencil
When sitting in crowded rooms filled with the wares
Of life’s inspiration in hot bodied persons
They see me, they don’t. Invisible I write.

I wonder if they are as curious as I am
To know this lone figure in a sea of companions
Appear to be wasting my time in hot coffee-
filled dreams of a writer in idling waste.

What of my poems, my stories, my scribbles
Are worthy of readership blessed by the critics
When sit here I sit and I write about nothing
For nothing can come of my time wasted hand.

My mind it keeps turning and churning out lead
From my Bic #2 of black and of purple
The people ignore me by diminishing plate-fulls
My cup runneth over, my coffee refilled.

Where was I? Oh yes, I am here wasting time
My ears filled with droning of foreign speech convos
The lead leads to dullness, the clock I hear ticking
Is life passing by through my time withered grasp.

But time has no meaning in this little cafe
Christmas cake scarfed back in March by my side
And perfumes of women that drown out the noises
Of plates hitting forks hitting dentures, my turn?

Not yet. I sit with my pencil and bang out a poem
The stares and the glances ignored by my will
The writer within me strains hard to the surface
But still I write nothing, time wasted, again.

@Linda G. Hill

March 2005