i.

old house

blank windows like empty eyes, boarded up with weathered plywood

who looked out of them, watching raindrops or cars, waiting for parents to come home? 

porch bowed like a tired horse, splintering wood, chipped paint and age-old bricks, steps worn from time and rain and long-since footsteps

who went up and down those steps a hundred thousand times, walking, running, hopping, limping, dancing?

two lonely chairs by the door, crouching in the shadows

who sat there, sipping coke and watching the sun set, saying hello to passers-by?

porch light still glowing lemon yellow (we're home, come in, come in)

who forgot to turn the light out when they left?

ii. 

a poet named muriel once said,

"the world is made of stories, not atoms"

sometimes poets are better at understanding things than scientists

iii.

what stories did people leave in the old house? tucked under beds and tossed in dusty corners and hung in the closet,

waiting to be found?

who laughed and cried and fell in and out of love? who screamed and smiled and frowned? who became, who was undone?

do they remember the old house with the

porch light lemon yellow?

Nothing stirs

The total silence

At night

There is peace.

But when first light

Comes to break

The world fills with movement

Suddenly alive and awake.

The creaks and groans

Flood the air,

Wind and water show their wear

Time can be seen flowing on and on

But the day never seems to end once its begun. 

the sky was pink last night. 

pink and purple and blue, 

a perfect cotton-candy swirl of color, 

slowly fading into the hazy mountain peaks.  

the moon was quietly rising, 

until it's three-quarter self was hanging above us, 

watching, 

waiting, 

wishing. 

the grass smelled like summer, 

and the cicadas hummed, 

and the hydrangeas began to bloom, 

their pink and purple and blue blossoms, 

mirroring the sky,  

and the world kept spinning on. 

someday, 

I'd like a house by the sea. 

a place with a salty breeze, 

pastel houses, 

and perpetually cool weather. 

I want views of the strawberry fields, 

eucalyptus trees stretching into the sky, 

foggy mornings, 

and a window box bursting with flowers. 

I hope I have a room to write in, 

one with a wide window facing the sea, 

and I hope I have a little kitchen where I can bake. 

I want a place that people never hesitate to visit, 

a home that feels welcoming, 

warm, 

happy. 

a place where you can watch the waves crash on the shore, 

and feel brave.  

RANDOM POEM I CAME UP WITH

A rocky shore,

A stoney sea

A tall birch,

Among the trees

A glistening glass,

A sparkling gem

A tiny fish

Swims between them

A clear lake,

A sharp beach

A small wave

Manages to reach 

A sandy hill,

A pink sunset

A fluffy cloud

Covers like a net 

A cool breeze,

A calming rustling

A furry squirrel

Making trouble 

A bright ray,

A beautiful shine

A wavy floor

Looking divine 

I breathe the dark in

Let it fill my lungs, my mind, my heart

And I transform.

No longer am I the little clumsy shy kid stuttering under a spotlight,

I am stealthy and alert and as omnipresent as a shadow

I make the others cower, wondering just how far my presence extends.

My ears are tuned, my steps light and quick,

Fangs and claws poised to protect what truly matters. 

My friends are lost, scared and worried

But I can protect them, lead them, give them the best

Even if they can no longer see me.

I sprint along the whispering reeds,

Speeding along the dark and lifeless highway

I weave in between trees and grasses and rocks they dare not traverse

And in the fading twilight thrive.