Scarred

 

i am a seashell

one among many

i have cuts in my shell

wounds in my skin 

because

i was tossed

to and fro

by the waves

and the winds

of life's oceans

calloused by 

the rough sands

i am complicated

mysterious 

yet

fascinating
inevitable change
comes
but the marks
remain

my uniqueness

stands out

i am

aesthetically
scarred

Note: A repost from my 2012 posts. This is how I see myself now.

Pain

 

Indescribable,

my lifeless heart’s agony

buried deep in pain

 

Unspeakable wrath

of your sharp-edged tongue

stabbed me to death.

 

Hatred overwhelmed

your jealous narcissistic

self and scattered plumes.

 

My soul’s rain of tears

drowned myself. I have lost you.

I only have me.

    

Written for: Poets and Storytellers United

Writers' Pantry #59: Love and Loss

Living a Smile

talk less and smile more

it will make your mind at work

heal you from the hurts

to die is easy

but you have to live harder

make time for yourself

talk less and smile more

from within, it's a call to

live beautifully

Written for:  Poets and Storytellers United
Weekly Scribblings #59: Talk less. Smile more.

Daily Hope

Day starts at four dawn

With closed eyes to the Great One

Tranquility reigns

My heart in whispers

Gratitude is my first breath

For life I behold

Mindfulness I seek

No matter what the day brings

Be kind, true and strong

I can never tell

In a quandary I am

Will this be my last?

Poets United Midweek Motif - Everyday Living

the last picnic...

the family’s picnic on Easter weekend

painted the ocean blue

the sand, smoothly grayish and ashen

food, fun, laughter, we all had

stories were told

hopefully joyful to cover the strains

but life is uncertain

in one snap, everything breaks

and falls apart

even hearts mourned and wailed

will there be another reason to picnic?

http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/05/poets-united-midweek-motif-picnics.html

Nightmare

                                          

                                      photo: Daniel Murtagh

a dreadful cold night

scarred body and spirit

ruthless souls ripped me

i can hear my mom

in the stillness, heaven cries

her shattered heart weeps

mystery

No. 8, Black Flowing, Jackson Pollock

turmoil in my heart

enslaves my hand to depict

mystery in black

Cold Morning

socks fit snugly mom

with toast and hot chocolate

your hug completes me