Tuesday, January 31, 2012

A Poem

Every drive is longing.
Red, white, yellow, green.
A photograph of a wall
and I feel homesick.

There is beauty and love and joy in this place
and I try to hold on, but
these cupboards have no feeling,
the garage has no soul.

Words are bubbling out of me,
longings met and yet, not.
All I want is a pleasant walk,
some windows without curtains,
wood with stories to tell.

Tomorrow and yesterday have a lot to carry.
Today is often a day gone by.
I know, this too shall pass.
And I haven’t written a poem since high school.


  1. Roses are red
    violets are blue
    I like your poem
    and I like you.

    And, things will get better.

    1. Thanks, girlie. And, things really are pretty good. Really.