Rainy day out, birdsong morning, new green
on green on green on green of spring, blue-gray
sky, blue-brown baby birds, and cloudy haze.
Emerging light and first flight chicks, routines
of life and cycles, seeds which die, we've seen
this road before, we walk the day to day,
we live to die; our steps point to the way,
and rarely do we know just what that means.
We're born to lives we don't deserve; our death
is life, our life is death, the voice that calls
us back still calls to us. The paradox
of blue moon sky and deeply breathing breath,
when life and death hold hostage in your walls,
escapes your sight within Pandora's Box.
© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Popular posts from this blog
Rainy day and troubles, sick dog, messages from a friend. Sigh. Things and things and things to do. And so it goes. Even in gray, the sun dawns. The healing pulse helps. Listen to the voice within. You. can. do. this. It's a dark heart day. Stir your coffee. Stir your mind as well. Start again. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018
Valentine Sonnet She’s the shy girl in her scuffed Mary Janes watching for lacy pink “Be Mine” hearts drop into the gold painted glitter-filled box, nervously holding her breath, but in vain. Her valentine box is ready to gain blood-red Sweethearts, frilled hearts, on her desktop. She’s waiting for Prince Charming’s step to stop in front of her freckle-faced grin, again. Now she’s the very same girl who’s so learned, no matter how much gold is spray painted or how long for Prince Charming she’s waited. that love is not found in boxes and verse, but in moments of heart filled connection, and in moments of tingling affection. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
On the sale of our sailboat, dreams soaring away, on a run, in the wind, sad to see the horizon approach; the sun behind me shines a light on the breeze and me laughing out loud at the seemingly lazily floating by world. Past the mem’ries of days when we soaked in the warmth of the sun, glad to be kissing air, tanning skin, long brown hair blowing back, catch the wind, feel the speed, trust the tack. The elation of fun, when the boat caught a run, in the moment by moment days when we won the world and the wind, and our lives, looking back, the horizon ahead and our faith in our ride. Now, the blue's not the sea but our aging betide. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019