I’m collecting keys,
weighed with opportunities
that stretch my pocket

Hope surprises my inertia.
To dare of possibility,
knowing karma dictates.
Hope is blue~
not the turquoise blue of Arizona.
Blue like heron feathers.
Blue like 30 meters.
Hope can swim to me,
an urchin in need.
Hope wants you to know
what everything means.
If I am soft, would it
save me?

Sara Fielder © May 2020

I sat on my toadstool
watching bees drink from Dandylions

I could see across the flat calm sea
a blue sky come to visit

I feign would dream a summers dream
but that poem is already written

I will go my own way
happy I was entranced for a moment.

Listening
to the news
is like dreaming
a bad dream
but I hear
it’s going to be
a banner year
for roses, lilies
chrysanthemums
and soybeans.