Just Reminiscing, Poem: Summer

I love this time of year, and I couldn’t resist sharing this poem I wrote a few years ago. I love this poem. 

Summer is like magic. Summer is the part of yourself that is happy when the sky is blue and the days are longer. Summer is about childhood memories, fireworks and sticky marshmallow fingers sitting around a campfire. Summer is about reminiscing. It’s about dreaming.

Source: fstoppers.com

Source: fstoppers.com

Summer

 

People say there is something

about the way light shines across crystal

across diamonds, too

 

But there is really something to be said

about thousands of lightning bugs

on a warm June night

that makes the world glitter and take a deep breath

 

These are the diamonds of the mid-night summer

these gems of remembrance

these flashes of yesterday.

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Poem: “For Grandma”

My family and I lost someone very special to us this month; my grandma of 88 years, passed away Friday, May 8th. While words don’t really do her justice – (I’ve never had this problem before!) It certainly doesn’t hurt to try.

So, I wrote a poem to honor her, which I read at her memorial service. Afterwards, everyone came up and told me how great it was, how “perfect” it was and fitting for her. But inside I felt empty. A part of me was pleased that everyone liked it, but I didn’t feel like I deserved it; it wasn’t good enough, it didn’t feel complete. But I think it was because, in this case, words can never really express how someone was in life, how much they mean to you, how much you ache and feel sorrow because they are gone.

I think there comes a time (even for a writer) when words just aren’t enough. No matter how much you try. Regardless, my grandma was a beautiful woman inside and out…and I did it to honor her.

grandma rose

(Or if you click on my beautiful picture you can see a larger image and read the poem there.)

It reads:

The woman who loved the color purple

had laughter on her lips

 

and everywhere she walked and talked

there was a purpose to her quips

 

She was always there to lend an ear

no judgement in her mind

 

She was always there for everyone

hard-working, mischievous and kind

 

The woman who loved to laugh and camp

had compassion in her eyes

 

She didn’t have to do everything

but by golly, she did try!

 

She was a woman of many names

and as busy as can be

 

But no matter what you called her

she was always “Grandma” to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Throwback Thursday Inspired Poem: “Best Friends”

I wish I was better at juggling a full-time job, a part-time job, my own writing projects, and posts for this blog, but alas, it is a work in progress!

I don’t know how some people do it! But I’d rather have fewer posts, than many posts that are lower quality. It’s something that I’m definitely working on, though. 🙂

Anywho, I watched Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood on Netflix last night, and was inspired to write this poem. Maybe I’m just overly emotional right now, but for some reason I was feeling all reflective, and melancholy at the same time and this is what I came up with:

My friends Christina, Jackie, and Me (in the middle) at age 11, or 12.

My friends Christina, Jackie, and Me (in the middle) at age 11, or 12. Taken before I had a digital camera, of course!

Best Friends

We lay there in a tent made of fake canvas; it smelled like dirt and plastic and camping

and somehow I knew this would be one of the last times we would really spend together,

the three of us bunched up together on that old blow up mattress

But it wasn’t evident from the stars that twinkled down on our faces,

Or the crickets that chirped and sang…

We were alive and we were beautiful and young,

and nothing ever got its way in our paths.

I remember asking, when did you think we would die?

How someone went silent and then, “I never really thought about it much.”

How I replied: “I think I’ll go young. It’s not like I want to, but I never really saw myself doing much. I can’t picture my future.”

I remember silence and the crickets were humming and I’m sure there were lightning bugs, too, (there’s always lightning bugs).

Then someone takes a breath and we’re talking about Twilight, and school and boys and how remember that time you fell in the creek, and someone was clever enough to snap a picture?

Now I look back and wonder if anyone ever knows the future? And if they do, don’t they know it is more like a journey, best imagined sometimes an adventure, but always survived.

One minute it’s there, and the next minute gone. A feeling like a breath, an instant, a tear drop, a thought.

Gone with last night’s breeze and this morning’s rough chill.

Sometimes it takes a whole minute to hold onto something, but it takes only a second to realize what it is, and then it’s gone.