I never thank you for being the sole orange-blossom in my garden. Laughter fills your pockets and spills into the air like bubbles, adhering to all who pass. Only you know how to turn anger into flowing yellow carnations and chocolate swirls. Vibrant amber sun-eyes glint on your face; you elevate me with your common sense and faith. Every night, when I was little, you crocheted a quilt of stories in my head so I could sleep. Your touch turns my tears into dragon-flies fluttering Off my cheeks, reminding me that I am never alone. Upon my shoulders, I wear your strength as a jacket against the cold.
An acrostic poem about my mom and all she does for me
I remember as a quiet child The summer days upon the grass laid Banks of a timid stream Sitting cross-legged, bending To stroke the muddy waters With a part of forgotten wood And all around the warmth of The summer's glowing sun
An intake of breath would Bring the scent of tall trees Bounding to my favorite nest. footsteps followed shallow paths That meandered to and from The stream which gurgled as a child In excited and gay temperament
I did then pause in rapture of my sense And touch a life of serene sublime A tender moment to solitude Yet as I sat flat upon the grass A gentle butterfly swaggered In its pride of showy acrobatics White and blissful in balance With my sun-filled dreams
Nature showered in a halo of blushes Collected the dusty corn colors of summer And sprinkled then at my feet For a secret wish for me to dare Then... through my reverie I heard some voices cheer Some boys scuttled the biggest log there back into the stream it sped Some part cooled in water Some part basked in sun
I recall the echo of buzzing beetles That zoomed across the water And were hidden by the distance On the other side Some dragonflies hovered with curiosity In some infrequent time The red and green of their wings Seems now lost to me They shimmered like chrome Of tireless helicopters
This was a busy side to my young years What with barges of driftwood And scurrying air-traffic Yet the call of the water birds Stayed only after the sun had set And leafy foliage lingered in silhouette The birds crossed the sky with To me a mournful cry As a reminder the day had said goodbye
Yet little did I realize then That in flowering adulthood I would return to those summer days in sweet lament And cherish that moment of child content.
In contrast to the responsibility of adults, it's imagination which often gets left behind. Summer carefree holidays is a worthwhile memory when I get too serious
breaks away from it family to inspect my wet leg teasing a shiny blonde hair lit by an evening Baltic sun, its wings said to vibrate at 2,000 times per second, if
I reach to touch this momentarily curious creature it vaults toward the back lit protective river reed sweet grass or water lilies at 100 times the speed of one length of its jeweled body,
Two species in short vernal contact and how to compare us: Zygoptera have lived 250 years, possess keen 360 degree vision eat mosquitos, never had a thought, yet who is to say my kind are better in the scheme of things?
This is a "transcendental encounter" I seem to every every summer swimming in Baltic rivers and lazing on the banks. The insect is "ineffable" and its beauty and behavior evade and tease the poetic.