Today if you do one thing remember to breathe deeply into those spaces that have caused so much hurt and exhale through to the other side where a bird might be perched. Or the moon might be resting ever so quietly on a fence.
Today if you do one thing, think about who you are right now, and who you were one year ago. Five years ago. Ten years ago. 15 years ago.
Take all the time you need. Go slow. Breathe belly deep. Then jot down a feel, a word, a few sentences for each. …
The sun was still awake at 5 pm.
I blinked at its resolve
and saw tiny hopes
dance along the clear brown branches.
I didn’t close the blinds
but left them full
the wideness kept me open
the blindness of the lightness
told a story
there are reasons for seasonal blues.
Rotating through the wind
touching each fair blade of grass
coaxing the Nuthatches.
Maybe I’ll see a Robin soon
or a daffodil will push straight
through to my heart space.
Sheltered still in a robe of silvery blues questioning the existence of what is real ‘til a tear trembled…
The rainy windows are crying.
Inside opals knit with grays
while the earth’s lush colors
of holy browns and greens sway.
Silence can be sweet or deafening.
Alone time is okay until loneliness hits.
Exclusiveness nullifies belongingness.
Advice giving too often forgets to listen.
Touch is a ghost.
Pour another cup of warmth
into an eggshell blue cup
and hold her tight.
The fragileness of this empty space
is too familiar.
It amplifies what’s been lost
without the footsteps
needs and wants.
This life amplifies the curious
calling for completeness.
Mostly awakened in the silences when aloneness wears speakers announcing…
When the clock’s ticking fades
and the to-dos are no longer made
let’s push aside the whys and why nots
and only listen to our soul’s sweet call
inside the wild of it all.
Where we become the shivers
of a dreamy seasonal sleep
her branches, the verily deep
are the bones inside our seeing
we find what we are looking for.
A signature written on ebony keys
followed by ivory, the taste is complete.
The heart of every single nuance
is set alive by the tapping of our feet.
Its rhythm is our soul’s river. …
The bees are asleep
in their artful matrix home
until I drizzle raw honey
over my sleepy seeping tea leaves.
I begin to imagine
the bees round sunny sounds
buzzing brilliantly brave
and abundantly heroic.
Clinging to their wee sleeves
are golden orbs of mystery.
I can sense them
inside of my daydream.
But for now
winter has covered our wings
with honey’s sweet succulent nectar
dancing with tea leaves.
Dreaming is a bridge between us
in our cozy respective winter inactivity.
Those sleepy bees and me
waiting for the bountiful buds of spring.
Another related poem written last year:
Carolyn Riker is an author of three beautiful books of poetry and prose. She’s also a licensed mental health therapist in private practice. Her books are available on Amazon.
I think of you the most,
when I’m lonely
beyond my ordinary blues
but extraordinary ones.
I think of you the most,
when I see lovers share
playfully exposing their hearts
and I want to tell you
how it makes me feel.
I think of you the most,
when a movie ends,
and I can no longer share
my thoughts with you.
Then I switch up and
dry my melancholy,
because while my heart
wants to revisit
the highlighted sweetness,
I know there was hurt between us.
So, I venture into my loneliness and ask her what does she need…
“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”
— Pablo Neruda
Most of us have Valentine’s Day tales that aren’t the best. I know I’ve had quite a few of my own. Waiting and waiting for my date to show up and then they didn’t. Waiting for hours to be seated for a fancy dinner, which turned out not to be as fancy. Wondering if they’ll bring me flowers but telling me, “Not today. I’ll get them tomorrow when they go on sale.”
Nevertheless, 23-years ago, on February 14th, I brought my…
What if we gave
our inner child
a bucket of ribbons
papier-mâché and paints
with no rules except
please be messy and create.
what divides us
from the child inside us
is the real key
to help us to see?
Maybe they are showing us
the way that strays us and
turns us into sharp pointy fractions
with sad shoulders and swollen toes
that blind our ability to play.
Can we for just a tiny moment
forget about the pains
that trickle in like rains
cementing those stains
on our heart’s flow?
Let’s practice together and stroll with…
“The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.” ― C.G. Jung
For some of us, self-love doesn’t come naturally. We might not know what self-love looks like or how it feels. We might think self-love is a waste of time. We struggle to understand it because our role models were few or perhaps not at all.
What I do know, learning to take care of ourselves is an act of self-love.
To love ourselves is to love all sides. It also starts with listening to our needs. What is that inner voice feeling? How do we think? When do…
Often, I feel so deeply
I will almost apologize,
but not lately
because the years have collected
into still pools of knowing
every fiber of me
understands that I will
plunge or soar
with a wingspan made of sea.
Sometimes I take things personally.
It is who I am.
Sensitivity is a complex flight
a dervish at times,
to explore and notice
inexplicable conflicts and joys.
Once there, I am immersed
into an octagonal ecstasy
whose stories show me
there’s always, always more.
Just as the sun cuts through sleepless nights, to open dawn’s door I’ve learned to protect what…