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Star BG May 7
In the jeweled dew of
daybreak I sit,
upon land
raising hand in prayer.

Birds plant seeds
of song in ears.
They are the songs
of gratitude
for the treasures of life
before me.

My treasure chest opens
with golden nuggets
of memories.
The good and bad
that serve my soul.

My riches supply
insights and visions,
to launch my vessel
of human form
with grace and style.

And so I glide
in a day of
endless possibilities
and miracles
that push my sails
to harbors where
perhaps our eyes will meet.
Inspired by the great Hirondelle A gifted poet that I admire.
mae Mar 14
Deep under the ocean,
there is a magical potion,
that I must retrieve.

Clueless, not knowing where it is or maybe,
I know that I must be,
the one to proudly receive,
The Treasure.

Whether it lies in the pleasure  of,
the beautiful terrain and,
Blue with hues of aquamarine.
Whether it is covered in colorful fish,
Or dolphins that I might want to kiss.

This wonderful gift,
Hidden under the sea,
For only me, I will receive,
Spur of the moment poem
V Dec 2018
Grandmother had told me tales of the past,
Fairytales that we’ve all heard of,
The maidens in the scullery maid attire,
transforming to the princesses with the
embroidered and jeweled gowns; rivulets of silks and satins,
blue as the sea, greener than the highlands, more purple
then the dusky skylines, a true stamp
of royalty, poise, eloquence, and beauty.
And ensembles topped off with gold
encrusted and amethyst crowns.
Sure, the fairytales were what I lingered
onto during the years of my inexplicitly
innocent childhood, that I wished I still had.

I missed it, the tales, the anecdotes
that shaped my perception on love, hope, and faith,
far off from what I viewed in the looking mirror today.

I missed my grandmother’s hands, brittle and worn,
but kind and warm; I still thought about them
as I cleaned out the attic in which I’d forgotten existed.

And I grew up, my memories of it faded,
now covered in cobwebs and bristling wind
that sent a chill up my spine, but I found
much more than what my memory had allowed me to collect.

Amulets from what I assumed to be my grandmother’s youth
were stowed and tucked away in the alcove of a velvet shelf,
hidden by the splintered of decaying wood.

Next to the swell of the dresser, the door of the
furnishing remained ajar, revealing manila
colored increments of letters, some harbored
by the envelopes, some pierced out in the open.
The edges had crippled away,
flecks falling to the sandalwood bottom.

They were timeless, old, maybe not important,
to the wandering eyes of a stranger.
But to me - they held a mystery
that was waiting to be unraveled.

A story of my grandmother’s life she never shared with me,
just as private as she was open, perhaps I’d find in those envelopes
the same mindset I also had when I was young.
Perhaps she believed and dreamt of fairytales I had once done,
paraded around in the jewels and bangles hidden way,
basked in the ambiance of a sweet love
that was doomed to end in the decay of both parties.

Little figurines of silver and gold were placed under one
of the drawers parked away in the furnishing,
toys form her childhood, weighted by standard and price.

Her words I had adored as a child,
ate them up like sickly syrup and supported
them as if they were undiscovered treasure, but
now I finally got to “see” my grandmother’s
treasures deposited in her attic, the very place she
had hidden the most interesting stories that she
left for me to discover after she left.
Isaac Sep 2018
Thankfulness cleans away the dust that covers life's hidden treasures.
Written 21 September 2018
eleanor prince Jul 2018
mementos
richly held
hidden in
fractured chest

big people
shifting boxes
heavy
light

silenced
a child's fissure
clasping favourite shell
close

swift salvage
in tight world
rescue from
gaping hole




#family #disruption #moving #treasures #mementos #lost #ignored
For a very young child, moving house can be incredibly bewildering, disruptive, even traumatizing, especially when moving countries tends to mean belongings need to be severely curtailed.  Few remember their own childhood attachments, closely held treasures, even if perceived by harried adults as inconsequential as a bag of broken seashells.  Would a little more listening and empathic explanation with kindness ease things well at such transition times
Just Maria Jun 2018
A sail boat is docked beside the pier
The lapping water is all I hear
I feel the breeze upon my face
I dream of blue skies and open space

To sail the sea without a care
No time for worries, just time to spare
A thought of new adventures crosses my mind
Of all the treasures that I will find

I'll gather stories from far and near
That I'll retell year after year
At night the moon will shine above
And I'll remember those whom I love

A little sadness enters my heart
as from this dream I must depart
I turn away with a slight smile
At least I was free for just a while
I was inspired to write this poem by a photograph that I took of a sail boat and I started dreaming about how nice it would be just to sail without a care
Gray Jun 2018
I look into the infinite abyss.
And ponder all the many things I've dismissed.
All grandmother wanted was a call on the phone.
Yet, i continued to have that simple call postpone.
All my old dog wanted was to play ball.
Instead i decided to further withdraw.
All he wanted was to have someone to talk.
But i chose to go on a far away walk.
Now it’s too late to grant their wishes,
For now they’re are just fading reminisces
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