Lullaby

Well. Here is a surprise. I have another happy poem to share today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s most unusual, that’s for sure.

To be honest, I did have a prompt for this one. It is: “In poetry form describe inner peace – the quiet of the soul – the place where you find that moment.”

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Lullaby

A quiet Sunday afternoon,
with sun stretching over the
field next to our house,
we sit out back
together—
no words needed
appreciating the warmth
and the golden hue of the crop …
a dazzling dragonfly
skitters
between us, sending out the tiniest
vibrations of good will,
but other than that the air is
s t i l l,
l a z y,
blackbirds chirping in the old oak tree,
I close my eyes and listen to their song,
and my heart slows and beats its own
lullaby.

A romantic Friday night,
wrapped in David’s arms,
watching some old movie we’ve
seen a hundred times before,
his warmth permeating
my body
love
latching onto my heart and keeping it
safe;
laughing together
at nothing important,
the tranquility that settles in my stomach
with one touch,
and my heart slows and beats its own
lullaby.

Each day as time marches away
I am able to look back and find more
happy memories,
moments frozen in time,
perfectly formed stills
of childhood,
my mind is sifting the vast
catalogue
I hold within,
dispensing with all the hurt and
pain,
and retrieving the times I was loved;
a mother so proud,
a father who tried his best,
and when I am lost in these reveries
my heart slows and beats its own lullaby.

An Ode To D.

Today is my hubby’s birthday. Now, I don’t write romantic poetry. I’ve tried, but it’s just not my style. I’m much more comfortable writing about depression and bleakness. However, I’ve written this poem for my husband. He is the best thing that ever happened to me, and I love him with every fibre of my being. (See, I don’t even write romantically in my introduction.)

Dear Me Heart

An Ode To D.

One click and my life
changed;
one cautious reply sent to
another.
A reaching out of souls,
both shrouded in pain.
Living fractions of lives,
with shards of dirty glass
cutting
though the ropes that held us together.
Frayed ends all we had left,
we were running
out of time and
will,
then we
connected . . .
Through dogs called Jake
and Edgar Allen Poe
we mixed ourselves into
one,
a blend of love emerging.
I’m so pleased we’re both a little
crazy
because if we weren’t we
wouldn’t have risked it;
but we did,
and I’m glad
the pull of our magnetic hearts
attracted
each other.
So now you’re living in a country
so cold, your chattering teeth have their own
repertoire.
I’m sorry, honey,
but we’re worth it, right?