The escape to tranquility,to waters rushing and still,to the calm of spacewhere water meets sky:the unspoken whisperof past and futureblurred into one present.Alive in tree roots,polished rocks and wrinkled pine needles,the landscape revitalizesdead souls,calls home life’s warmth,and echoes a hopethat reverberatesunder my rib cage. I wrote this poem for the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt #167.Continue reading “Tranquil Scape”
Author Archives: wordsandcoffee1
Storm Warning
winds cross the medianand cross our heartsmitigated existencecross-switched without caredestruction everywherethe shame of luxuryof wasted libertya blight of eternityhard-pressed againstnature’s breastonly to be squashedwhen the winds pull back When we were camping over the weekend, we received a call from a good friend that our area had suffered some serious rain and storms. Someone postedContinue reading “Storm Warning”
My Favorite Tip for Writing with Limited Time
Earlier this year, my schedule made it so difficult to fit in writing time. Teaching 7 classes, some over their enrollment limit, and being the main transportation source for my kids to their sports and other activities made life overwhelming at times. It’s a good kind of overwhelming, because I enjoy my job, and IContinue reading “My Favorite Tip for Writing with Limited Time”
After-Shock
She’s nobody’s foolto think she deserved some reprievefrom these headwinds and chaos,the tumultuous dayswhen she was caught up in the storm.Now, she spins circles,finds the air is still loadedwith the damp heaviness that forbodes a second storm. I wrote this poem for the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt #165, which was provided this week by BobContinue reading “After-Shock”
Summer Haze
Sneaking snacks on the back porch,sneaking jokes under blankets,we slip away into sweet dreams as the Northern Lights trace patternsacross our sleeping bags. This is just a little poem about summertime thoughts. We have an upcoming camping trip that I’m pretty excited about– the urge to watch the sunset over Lake Superior and roast marshmallowsContinue reading “Summer Haze”
The Last Train Whistle
History loosens the thread holding us together,until it unravels,slipping down beyondthe space that held our thoughts.It tricklesbeneath remnants ofthe trestle bridgethat once carriedtowards the dream of possibilitycounterhinged in history,until the train whistle’slast call. I wrote this poem for the Wea’ve Written Weekly prompt #164, which was provided by Sheila. She asks us to write aboutContinue reading “The Last Train Whistle”
Battle worn
lately, so many careen around blind corners,tearing the edging,walloping mailboxes, smashing towards strangerslately, I find I’mhelpless to wander,inching down the incline,nose-deep in the sunset, opposite the flow of traffic Today marks Day 2 of summer school for my kiddos, which means more free time to write, walk, and weed the garden– hurrah! I love theContinue reading “Battle worn”
Lemon These Throats
Sliding beyond the brow, the bend of where noise began. We lemon these throats behind us, whispered under night’s edge. We focused on the impossible, bravely kicking up the dust until we become invisible. We scoured our hells, but they couldn’t make runway for the undergrowth. How many more days will we spend, leaderless, hoveringContinue reading “Lemon These Throats”
Time’s Calm
The stillness of that year,captured in still frames,plucks at my veinslike the IV needle.We drive to the hospital,to empty waiting rooms,to masked facesand empty eyesto perdition,or so it seems.Still, that waiting room haunts me,awakening masked emotions.But time passes smoothlythrough the eyes of a needle,until the ghost of that year fades,wavering in my mind’s eye,and IContinue reading “Time’s Calm”
Wide-Open Field
the hallway holds a spiraling blur of blinding light,eternal and etherworldly.I step through with hands shading eyes,trying to glimpse the world ahead.For the longest time, it remainedcordoned off,a heavy blockage impenetrable,the stone path held in place by gatesonly partially of my own making:the limit of struggle,the toxins of trauma,too many brick blocks boarding me up.Now,Continue reading “Wide-Open Field”
Words and Coffee Writing 