One morning

the sky was gray

I didn’t know what to do

or  say

One morning

the sun shone bright

and I knew

then and there

that everything would be all right

But mornings

turn to afternoons

and afternoons

to evenings

And when I come to the end of each day

I wonder about its meaning.

I walk a tight rope

a bridge without rails

traversing mile-wide canyons  and sky high buildings

Gingerly crossing the razor thin wire

Careful not to let a gust of wind

blow me down

In the hope that one day, I will walk on solid ground.

Today is the day

to start fresh.

Today is the day

to start something new.

Today is the day

to imagine the possibilities.

Today is the day

to go somewhere new.

Today is the day

to do what I love.

Today is the day

to be who I am.

Today is the day

to love myself.

Riding the train home

on a late evening

I strain to hear the voice

of a colleague

The noise of the train

creates static

like the kind that old television sets make

when the signal fades to snow

A peaceful day?
Maybe not…

An energizing workout
relaxing stretch
A blissful morning

New phone in hand
A stroll around the mall
A busy afternoon

An altercation
at home
about what else….
money
I never seem to have any

I escape the scene
Walking away from
the accusations
endless guilt
frustration
harsh criticism

I return
the flames still smoldering

I hastily make my way to my room
the room that I once found heavenly
now
is a place of shame
despair
loneliness
guilt

Tears roll down my cheeks
softly releasing all my frustration

Music plays in the background
as I return to a blissful state

A quiet evening begins

Faded blue jeans

draped over the bedroom chair

Sunlight

washing the room

in a brilliant yellow glow

She sits up

suddenly

alert

quickly gathering

her articles of clothing

haphazardly strewn of the floor.

What? Where are you going?

He asks,

Once he notices

there’s no longer

an arm stretched across his chest

I can’t do this anymore

she yells,

unable to repress

her anger–

and disappointment.

She was such a fool

to think this

would lead somewhere.

The racy e-mails

“anonymous flower deliveries

It all started so innocently

a compliment at the Christmas party

when her husband had gone to get refills of wine

then an invitation to the opera

A place her husband refused to take her–

he much preferred a quiet night at home

reading a science fiction novel.

Soon, the two of them

would find moments at the office

for a quickie

a  late lunch

early breakfast

dinner meeting

Her husband never suspected a thing.

Such an honest man himself, he believed that his wife

was just as honest.

She had not planned to be unfaithful,

her husband was just so distant–

preoccupied with his reading or crossword puzzle–

so she looked elsewhere.

She quickly packs

the few belongings

she had stuffed

into her overnight bag,

earlier that day.

If she hurried,

she could catch the 3 o’clock flight home

and arrive in time for dinner.

He would never know.

Wait, Amanda, he yells,

as she briskly walks to the elevator

in her patent leather heels,

leaving behind her faded blue jeans.

It’s rather aggravating,

when a call you’re expecting,

when a call you’re dreading—

doesn’t come.

You wait with anticipation

careful not to use the phone—

in case the calls comes through.

Yet  hour after hour passes,

without a single call.

Even more maddening

you can’t call them

so there’s no way

of figuring out about

the delay.

Yet, they have no problem

creating delays:

for your day

for your payments

for bills being paid

for your life.

Wouldn’t it be nice

if they had

an ounce of empathy

for the plight of the unemployed.

People who want nothing more

than a paycheck

to provide for themselves

and their families.

Then, maybe,

they would feel the aggravation

of having to wait for a call

that never comes.

“Writing is a process, not a product.”

It’s a long way down

from a high peak

and the path can be steep.

But with a little common sense,

I can make it to the bottom

and cross any bridges

which guide me

to the safety

of a sunny meadow.

This meadow is full of wildflowers

which grow as high as my head

The full color spectrum is represented:

from brilliant mustard to tranquil lavender.

And as I walk among them,

a gentle breeze blows through me,

offering a sense of serenity and peace.

Their fragrance provides a sense of balance.

When I reach the end of the meadow,

I feel rested and energized,

ready to climb the next peak

and overcome any obstacles in my way.

Through a child’s eyes

lie worlds unseen

people invisible

working their magic

bringing sun light

to rain drenched fields

rain to parched hills

home for the poor

humility to the rich

peace to the world.

Through a child’s eyes

there is joy

in the ordinary

a special feeling in every moment

that often gets lost

as the child grows

becoming immune

to the beauty that surrounds her

nature’s majesty

just outside her door

in a land where dreams come true.