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A Festival of Light

Let the light of who you truly are

Shine bright

And may the world

Embrace you

Photo by the author

For the backstory on this poem, visit byalannapass.com 

Waking

WAKING

There is an awkward transition

From dreamtime

To wakefulness

Where the nightly journey in my subconciusis

Is interrupted when my eyes open with the morning light

I was on the loose in the netherworld of experiences and imagery

Deadline

Dead Line

Sprawled flat in your path

Like giant road kill

Small, undetectable from a distance

Looming larger and larger

Until its great heaving, behemoth body

Brings you to your knees begging

For mercy between pathetic sobs

And muttered excuses

Scrolling

Name, address, telephone number

Birthdate

Index finger poised I scroll down the years

Down

Down

Down

Autumn Greetings

Goodbye garden

Goodbye bugs and bees

Goodbye hot weather

Farewell weeding

Cairns

Rocks stacked upon rocks

Balancing.

Stone sentinals

Marking the way

When the path is unclear

 

The Inuits have a name for them

Inukshuks

Theirs with heads, arms, legs

Human forms

Beckoning landmarks on the stark tundra

When the frozen landscape

Has nothing more to offer

 

SHOULD

I should wake up earlier

Be more organized

Quit wasting time

Write more

Be more creative

Be more focused

I’m in it Now

I’m in it now

An occasional place

Contained, devoid of mental challenge

But really quite comfortable

And very safe

I Know a Place

I Know a Place

Where the flesh and bones of the earth

Are laid bare

Rippled muscles of relief

Carved by centuries of thunderstorms

The River Called to Me

The river called to me

With a voice born out of eternity

Fluent in all languages

Come

Rest

By my sparkling water

A silver ribbon in a dark forest.

Photo by the author

For the backstory on this poem, visit byalannnapass.com

Intuition

It’s there

Sometimes buried under piles of laundry

Or dirty dishes

Grey Zone

There is a space

Between endings and beginnings

A quiet valley

Full of swirling grey mist

All sense of direction

Lost

 

The Letters I Wrote

The letters I wrote

were long-winded affairs

often written over a span

of several days

 

The letters I wrote

Documented the life of a young woman

Creating her own story

Capturing her memories through

Eyes of naivety and wonder

 

Handprint on the Universe

Put your handprint on the universe

Run through the cosmos

Hopping from asteroid to asteroid

Leaving your mark

Write your poems &

Draw your pictures on planets

Someday

The somedays roll past

Like tumbleweeds on a desert highway

Piling up on fences

The “It”

She wanted to know what the “it” was

A fair question to be pondered on a blog

Several commenters responded “YES, YES, where is the It?

It escapes me!

 

Song of the Earthworms

The earthworms sing about rain

While we complain

Jolly songs as they move the soil

With their soft heads

Seed Catalogs

They arrive like expected guests

In the days after the New Year

A steady parade of seed catalogs

All shapes and sizes

From varying corners of the country

Filled with beckoning colored photographs

Of fruit, vegetable, & bloom waiting to fill the garden

Ready to awaken the winter-weary to a fresh frame of mind

The possibilities of the planting season.

Purr

The stray cat cries pitifully at the door

waiting to be fed

a feast of canned food atop dry

with a tiny bowl of fresh cream.

My Mother

MY MOTHER  

doesn’t want to eat much

take her pills

shower

exercise

or remember I lived in this house

for half my childhood

CHECKLIST

High School

CHECK

college

CHECK

work

CHECK

marriage,  divorce,  marriage, child, divorce

CHECK, CHECK, CHECK, CHECK

Take Your Earbuds Out

Take Your Earbuds Out

I am talking to you

Let me see your eyes

I am a human

Trying to connect with you

Another human

 

Cartwheels on Couch

When I watch them on TV

in my warm house

those athletes a world away

flying through the air

I Miss Rotary Phones

I miss rotary phones

the kind where you put your finger in the hole of the dial

rotating it clockwise until it stopped

then releasing it to get a satisfying

click , click, click as it unwound

taking up to several seconds per number

Stray Cats on Porch

They come in the night

Wild-eyed, wary belonging to no one

caught in the netherworld

of feral and domestic

Farmhouse

I have no granite countertops

nor hardwood floors

an old white electric range

and a portable dishwasher

do the cooking and the dishes

Butterflies

“You could sell those”

a familiar phrase

then watch my passion

turn to drudgery