A Note From the Edge of the World

It is late afternoon
on the edge of the edge of the world.
Grey skies and raindrops
play timpani on the budding tulips,
and a pink-headed hummingbird
darts at the feeder,
grateful for sustenance.
As am I. As am I.

There was hail yesterday,
frozen pellets fired from heaven.
I passed laughing villagers,
coats held up over our heads,
as the streets grew white.

Where have all the years gone
and why have all the cherished people
from those days
changed so,
as if I am a different person to them
now that I am old
than I was when I was young
and laughing and strong.

As if they no longer know who I am.

I spend my days and nights

and years
alone,
with no dog,
but the song of the sea
is my comfort.

At twilight, I stand at my open door
and listen
for whatever it wants
to tell me.

Moon

source

sailing a celestial sky, 

conveyor of dreams,

you glide serenely,

untouched by the foibles

of humankind.

below,

a wolf howls

in the lonely midnight hours.

we stir in our troubled sleep,

knowing there are things 

to be made right,

answering the inner call

of the wild,

seeking justice

for all creatures.

moon,

light our path.

shine enlightenment

on our species,

that all others

may live.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif: Moon. I have written many moon poems over the years. This one is more troubled, given the times we live in.

Words

source

Words

led me into books,

and, through them,

out into the world,

searching,

questioning

what would 

complete me.

Words 

became a road map

for me,

out of pain,

and a manifesto

I could

believe in.

Then,

they brought me back,

and took me 

deep inside myself,

where I found

all the 

answers.

for Magaly's prompt at Real Toads: to describe what words do or have done for us.

Winter Blue

Wickaninnish Waves in Winter Blue

We sat together,

my grandmother in her wheelchair,

I her most frequent visitor,

as I told her 

I was moving to the sea,

my heart's dream.

We both knew what this meant 

for her.

She gathered herself to speak,

and she was generous:

"You deserve this, Sherry,"

she told me.

"You've had such a hard time."

The next time I visited,

she had retreated into herself,

and lived in silence.

But when I told her of the eagles,

and the whales and the wild waves,

she smiled.

Traces of mixed

joy and sorrow,

reflecting on the years'

unfolding ~

my solace, always,

the silver, shining sea.

for Angie's Get Listed at Real Toads : a celebration or a milestone memory of a loved one. And I will share it in the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

Wickaninnish in Blue......

One can never take too many photos of waves -

always trying to get that one perfect shot!

I love the winter blues

in sky and sea.

So pretty, the misty mountains.

Ploughshares of Peace

source

"They will beat their swords into ploughshares.....

nor will they train for war any more."

Isaiah 2:4

It is time

to turn the weapons

into ploughshares,

to till the hearts

of all men.

Make my pen 

a weapon of peace,

of hope, of faith,

of connection.

Let us vote for those

who play the pipes of peace,

not only in words,

but in deeds;

those who will spend 

on social justice

what we now spend 

on killing machines.

I see the world

that we have made,

and the world we could have,

if  we choose leaders

who will take us there.

We have seen the best

and the worst.

And we know, now,

how important it is

to choose.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: a poem of hope on the topic "Weapons".

Wickanninish in the Sun......

Mother Nature gives us a warning, and then a gift........

Today dawned sunny and beautiful, so we went to Wickanninish, 

where the waves were dancing. Enjoy!

Sebastian had a great day.