poetry Archives | Page 41 of 63

These Days, It’s Not Flattering To Be Me. {poetry}

... but one day, soon, I’ll emerge, with my silky wings ready for flight, for now, my pomegranate-stained lips smile, as I play along in this dance of words across the fine lines of invisible rules...

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Eulogy To The Past. {poetry}

She is here now, waiting for you, to set you free from chains you have bound yourself with.

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The Reasons I Write: Ode To The Pen In My Hand. {poetry}

I am writing because I want to impress the impressive and repress the repression.

poetry

If I Could Travel Back In Time. {poetry}

I would look right into her eyes eyes so full of sadness and shame, defeat and doubt and I would tell her I see her

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Ebb And Flow. {poetry}

Not in the past, where mistakes and failures lie in wait to torment you with reminders of where you weren't good enough, of all the ways you failed. And not in the future, where a million fears are ready to pounce and weigh you down in the incessant possibilities of ways in which life can go wrong.

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Hope, Lethe, And The Angels Of Sleep. {poetry}

Come as you are, and meet me there, where hope flowers, We can love and bloom forever, We can love and make it through together.

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I Want This. {poetry}

I think that today we, as women, are so caught up in both gaining and maintaining our independence that we neglect the other areas of our life that are equally important, like romance.

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Normal. {poetry}

Normal has some pretty strong allies, the Church, Education, the Workforce. Damn straight, Normal knows how to pick 'em. The other side also has some big guns. What is the other side of Normal? Checked the thesaurus and got this: Abnormal. Irregular. Odd. Strange. Uncommon. Unconventional. ...

poetry

Are You Asking Who She Is? {poetry}

Who is she, you ask? You are asking, aren't you? She is the universal, primal Om, she is shanti, shanti, shanti, she is the sound of life revealing, a mountain, a tree unfurling, an eagle soaring, an elephant roaring, as falseness crumbles at her feet.

poetry

The Very Near Death Of A Holy Heart And The Solitude of Knowing. {poetry}

I learned that this is what happens with hearts that need to be buried, and souls that have gotten too heavy and weary:

poetry

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