F/Kentucky USA World traveler, lived abroad as a military brat. Crime survivor . Kitsch & whimsy lover,unrepentant foodie ,cook and baker.Settled down in small town in America writing poetry vignettes , word snap shots of life on this big blue marble so far! 96 followers / 6.6k words
fans blowing all around me little bits of light peaking around corners of the room keeping it from pitch black blanket toss tango piled between us too hot too cold tired just not sleepy myriad of sensations magnified in a wakeful state knots on the fabric of the sheets didn’t I just buy these? my knee hurts is this a hot flash? random unlinked thoughts dance through my mind as light rhythmic snoring serenades me from the other side of the bed turns into my lullaby and I fade out ….
late spring nights, uncomfortably warm , a partner who snores ...but it's ok ...music to my ears apparently! !
into my bleak early Spring afternoon this mist of sticky juice my normally clogged nose inundated with bold proof of lurid promises from citrus groves bathed by sunlight on a foreign soil while my entire body sanguinely sings your praises and my fingers continue to peel away until every morsel is revealed and devoured
I bought a bag of blood oranges the other week, and every other day I eat one with my fiancée. The smell and texture is divine.
those fruits always boasted such sweet promises every summer they arrived at the fruit stand in town wrapped in foreign writing my dreamy eyed little girl nibbled them with red stained lips she asked her gramps one summer afternoon if they could plant their own cherry tree so he took her to a spot and together they did plot to raise cherries by the driveway the pits took hold in the rich soil as they both thrived tall and strong it littered the front of her grandparent's house with it's delicious bounty we stood under the tree every summer we could come as they rained down upon us still going strong three decades later although we have not been around for a great long while to delight in this sweet red legacy
Cerise Noir is pronounced "Serreese Nowar" , it's French for black cherries.My daughter, parents and myself always loved sweet black cherries and when we lived in Germany , the cherries would come in from southern France or Italy every summer. My daughter who was 5 at the time wanted to grow her own fruit tree. So she and my father planted black cherry pits. They took and for may years there were black cherries towering over my parents driveway ! My parents recently sold that property and we so hope someone is still picking them and not just letting them go to waste.
light green empty branch arms turned away from the brown brick house held in line by the gray edge stones sinking deeper into Winter's drab slumber biding time until the dream of Spring's budding promise becomes a solid future with a stunningly luscious wave of hot pink Hibiscus flowers as a backdrop to the brown brick house kept in check by gray edge stones until the petals drop into the sneaky Autumn sun and desolation sets up shop in lonely green arms again
The hibiscus in my Eddie's Mom's front garden looks so dramatic at times during the year...I felt it needed it's own poem.
blossomed during those last high school days a sweet memory pressed into my psyche his big smile framed with dimples and sparkling blue eyes although coupled with unrequited love where it dwelled for decades in a musty yearbook until a chance meeting online brought sparks to life then this vintage crush infused our two aging hearts with newborn love
I bought this bottle of white wine a few months back , and the label said " Vintage Crush", in my mind I immediately related it to my fiancé and my 's relationship. We knew each other back in the day, and he thought we were just friendly , but I had always wanted more.We caught up with each other 26 years later , and we have been a couple for the past nearly 10 years now.
raw green beans this past afternoon brought back my Oma full white apron on in the kitchen one summer in Germany decades ago window wide open to the garden sitting at the table busily breaking them up together for her delicious vegetable soup I'm helping ,I'm helping I said as they broke in my little fingers her soup a mere memory as she stopped making it a lifetime ago
Oma was my German grandmother who I visited every summer growing up in the 70's , no matter where we were stationed ( My Dad was in the military ) we always visited her at least once a year .She died in 1982.
I like about July are multitudes of pink mimosa trees lining muggy country roads and orange day lilies run rampant along so many streets and stranger’s driveways the air thick with humidity and smoky spent fireworks trigger thoughts of sad goodbyes said way too soon
Too many anniversaries of loss intersect in July for me .