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elle Dec 2018
She discriminates none, no story unread,
Tales of magic and creation and death,
Some inspire her with happiness, others with dread.

She reads Shakespeare's Macbeth,
Fairy tales from the brothers Grimm,
Luxurious stories stealing her breath.

When at last her mind is filled to the brim,
She takes up her pen,
And writes on a whim.

The words spill out, again and again,
She tries her hand at jokes,
A skilled comedienne.

She writes of a forest of oaks,
Waiting for the spring,
Shivering under their snowy cloaks.

She tells a tales of a king,
Of a child alone,
She writes of a bird with only one wing.

As the years fly by she sits on her throne,
Made up of hopes and dreams and words
The number of stories she’s written is unknown.

She says goodbye twice, then comes back for thirds,
Her body is worn, but her mind is sharp,
She lets go, and flies with the birds.

She swims with the carp,
She fights with the knights,
She listens to the ethereal sound of the harp.

Her spirit lives on, she soars to new heights.
Constantly busy,
Forever seeing the sights.
elle Dec 2018
She sits.
The ocean crashes on the rocks.
The memories wash over her.
A boy.
No. Not a boy. The boy.
The one who got her into this mess.
The one who stole her heart the moment she laid eyes on him.
Her boy.
No. Not her boy. Her son.
Her son, who knew nothing but love.
Her son, the one that turned her world upside down.
His father.
Her other love.
A sailor.
She should hate the ocean.
But she doesn’t.
The water that laps around her feet
Is not the same water that took her boy away from her.
No. Not her boy. Her son.
Her life.
A simple trip.
Her son.
Begging to go with his father,
On the big boat.
His father.
Agreeing, for it was the boy’s birthday.
A storm.
Out of nowhere.
Raging, tossing the big boat around like it was nothing.
To the ocean, it was nothing.
But to her
It was everything.
The realization.
When she realized that the boat wasn’t coming back.
The tears.
Flooding every inch of her.
Drowning her.
Oh, the irony.
The waves.
Constantly ebbing and flowing.
She longed to join them.
To be reborn
Of sea foam and salt.
But she didn’t.
She sat.
The waves crashing on the rocks.
Anger at the ocean.
Anger at her son.
Anger at his father.
And then
Anger at herself.
She went home.
She sits.
The ocean crashes on the rocks.
A bird screeches.
She is drawn out of her whirlpool of memories.
She picks up a stone.
And throws it into the ocean.
Letting go.
elle Dec 2018
pawprints in the snow
like a monochrome painting
white and white and white

the freezing woods sleep
under a blanket of frost
nothing to be seen

the chimney puffs smoke
children run and laugh and play
eyes and smiles bright

cold and bare, they stand
trees and grass and plants and sky
waiting for the spring.

as frost gives way to
dew, as flowers begin to bloom,
the world awakens

the seedlings grow, the
trees proudly show their colors
every shade of green

the rain falls down, the
children frown, yet to learn of
mud and mess and play

time ticks by, good things
begin, temperature creeps up
school’s out, it’s summer!

the sun is always
there, a reminder of the
heat and life and light

the birds fly high, their
eggs hatch and grow and learn
sweet songs fill the air

running and jumping
off to camp they go
kids enjoy their fun

playtime ends and so
begins a race to get the best
supplies for fall.

leaves turn brown and float
gently to the ground, a fire
of red and orange

holidays go by
memories and scares and thanks
one for every month

homework piles up
and yet the children find time
to romp and explore

animals prepare
stocking food and finding homes
ready for winter.
a collection of
haikus, to tell a story
of a year gone by

— The End —