Dewdrops

Early morning dewdrops
twinkle as optical stars
in a galaxy dirt-hovering,
kissing blades and wildflowers.

Poem and images ©LDBS

Little Pieces

little pieces
of sunny
reach up from
buried,
inhale,
and ignite,

reminding me
I can too,
one breath,
one ray,
at a time

Poem and images ©LDBS

Softer

I don’t mean to be ungrateful
or a first-bloom scrooge,
thankful I am for the widespread
fuchsia-imbued mood,

but purple in my pinks
are spills to me
and not enough to undam
the purity

my soul longs
to reunite with –
light brushkissing
glossed lips

white-to-white,
blush-to-blush,
never bold,
never rushed,

so I look
for those softest of hues,
the whispers
in the glare
of azalea jewels.

First Chords

In the dark,
as a harbinger
of horizon’s light:
the herald’s song,
solo bird’s
opening line.

What hope floats
through my open window
to remind:
courage upon blindness
most often rides.

In the lightening mist
before the sun arrives,
the first chords inspire
the chorus to rise…

Petals

I found a pile
of moments,
once treasure,
memories preserved
in sensitive limbo,
or waiting
in purgatory,
or for surgery,
or autopsy
to know, to have
final say-so…

Is it the light and shadows
that determine
if each, or collectively,
are worthy
to keep their sweet
olfactory hold
on our soul,
or simply the decision
of a heart to cradle
or let go…?

Between Brick Walls

Between brick walls,
faux stars:
still the magic
makes my dreams
flutter
in my heart.

Above the lights,
the universe:
I imagine lanterns,
launched with whispered
verse.

Moon-Chaser

moon-chasing
as stars ignite
and the orb shrinks
commencing night

lone lady on boardwalk
two boats in the water
all become still
in silent homage

Out

Like when I was a child
looking at the ceilings
upside down,

I still invert what’s above
to challenge the limits
of ground and touch.

Now I’m venturing
beyond the sky,
following the path
of clouds…

I wonder if I’ve always been searching
for a way
out.

Soar

When the world is silhouette
in the darkness of new day,
and The Maker begins to add
the first colors of paint,

beginning with the sky
and blending into the sea,
as each ripple begins rippling
and the seabirds spread their wings,

my heart awaits the bristles
upon the lonely shore,
always hoping He’ll add wings
so my love can finally soar.

In Gold And Green

Fireworks burst
in gold and green
in November
beside the sea:
Morning’s first rays
reaching Palm’s leaves,
requited love
reuniting.

Barren bay-bridge
connects like a hammock
two trunks of trees,
so I sway awhile
in the soulful respite
of Peace’s breeze.