"paraglide" poems
I want to be more active
And not spew about all my feelings
I'm done pitying myself,
I just need to trust God,
Anyways here's an ending bucket list
Because I won't write back in a while:
Free swim with whales and sharks
See a lion pride
Shark cage diving
Sky dive
Ski a double black diamond
Climb a mountain
Film a tornado
Learn to surf
Learn to snowboard
Learn to scuba dive
See a wild wolf pack
See a wild brown bear
Hang glide
Paraglide
Cliff dive
Ride Route 66
Camp in complete wilderness of Yellowstone for week
Hike mount Haleakala, Hawaii, and photograph night sky
Visit equafina springs FL (again)
Camp on a beach (not crowded) with friends
Kiss in the rain
Go tree tent camping in smoky mountains
Own bonsai tree for many years
Own horses
Dye my hair (once)
Camp on my own private sail boat w friends
Write a book (actually commit, doesn't have to be good or published)
Own theses dogs: Newfie, husky, Akita
Live in Alaska
Live in the Yukon
Live in Colorado
Climb the grand Tetons and pray
Live without a cell phone
See Unimak pass Alaska and film orcas
Milk a cow
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
*He said to her after making love.
I want to skydive from a plane.
I want to. Paraglide from a cliff top.
I want to climb a sheer rock face.
I want to take a diving Bell
to the deepest part of the ocean.
She held him close to her
Her softness exquisite and lovely.
She said to him
If you want to do something
that terrifies you to the core.
Why don’t you marry me? *
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 5:23 AM UTC
*
He was always chatty after making love
He said to her in his expansive voice..
I want to skydive from a plane.
I want to paraglide from a cliff top.
I want to climb the sheer rock face
of the Himalaya's
I want to take a diving Bell
to the deepest part of the ocean.
I want to all this before I am thirty.
She held him close to her
Her softness exquisite and lovely
he melted into her.
She said to him
If you want to do something
that terrifies you to the core.
Why don’t you just marry me.*
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 6:05 AM UTC
My stomach does that thing—
you know, when the ghost
rests a hand there.
Not a hit.
Just a hush,
and fingernails.
Like it never left.
Like I’m the one
who forgot to feed it.
It’s always at dawn.
Or mid-laugh.
Or in line at the dollar store—
buying nail polish I’ll chew off by Tuesday
and an eyelash curler,
just in case he sees me
from across a decade.
Then you paraglide in—
a salesman who knew I’d be home.
And the floor remembers
what I worked so hard to forget.
And I gasp—like I tripped.
But I didn’t.
I remembered.
I remembered
the ghost
you left me to raise alone.
Like:
“Hi. Just passing through.
Don’t stress on my behalf.”
I nod.
And I don’t.
I keep chewing the same nail.
My eyelashes are curled.
My stomach still does that thing.
You know the one.
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 11:30 AM UTC