A story is a motion of words
whispered many times,
each  syllable different for
                         those that hear it..

Pictures are emotions that linger
when others have passed
                                 into the distance.

Not Lost But Free.

I miss you-
Why shouldn´t I?
I either had to let you go,
Or watch you die.

So, now I feign pleasure
As you soar in the sky.
She is happier there
You'll hear my lies sigh.

But she comes back,
Says hello.
Trusts me. for
In a cage she is not.

We steal time together,
Lock ourselves away even.
To be together,
Close our eyes and find heaven.

With open eyes
We face the world
Once closed
We are the whole universe.

(Gerry Aldridge 2017)

I am my mother's daughter,
counting coins, making piles
of nickels and dimes
we think in green, adorned
paper. Made out of trees
whose roots are planted into
our hearts, as crucial
as the valves, veins
and arteries of our ancestors.
I do not remember ever
shedding a single leave,
yet autumn comes to us
all, diseased and old,
young and healthy,
we are two ends of a
spectrum that collapses
at the sheer mass of
miracles it births,
Oak, silver birch, willow
ash... we are two women,
making ends meet, feeding
our men before ourselves.
We do not feel the weight
of wealth, saving every cent,
but our hearts are full and
their strings can be pulled
as tightly as our purses

This is the fifth Mother's Day that has come around since you passed away.
I really miss being a part of your life on Mother's Day.
Billions of women are celebrating Mother's Day all over the Earth.
You became a mother about fifty years ago when you gave birth.
You gave birth to my brother in 1967 and four years later you gave birth to me.
You brought both of us into the world and you filled both of our hearts with glee.
You were a special mother and many people know this.
Happy Mother's Day Mom, you will always be missed

String pickers,
violinists
Poets
Bad Boys
The lot of you
We fall in Love
with you
a thousand times a day
We listen to your songs
poems
Voices,
over and over
Common thread in crystals
cloud bursts of feeling
that you each sharpen
daily
You
Bad Boys Of Poetry
You
cut we
black butterflies
and
dark diamond
poetesses
daily,
hourly
We butterfly bats
dance,
sing
write!
Yet,
you
Bad Boys Of Poetry
Still
Lie, there in
to your ownselves,
and say
"No one loves me,
I'm alone
Forgotten"
Well,
No.
We each see
as we wish
Pluck your strings!
Sing your songs!
But know,
you're LOVED
A thousand times a day
By black butterflies
and dark diamonds

Poetesses
~only a poetess
A