She can turn the world with her smile.
Her heart, a song, coloring your eyes with something better.
She is fiercely kind and kindly direct.
Swiftly tilting her head, she questions the patriarchy.
A poet mathematician. A singer scientist. A musician doctor, healing your tired mind with her laughter.
She is precisely messy, delightfully charged, a force of joy.
A daughter, sister. friend to all.
She is water,
Flowing, dripping, dropping, water-falling.
Washing the inequity from the streets of
your indifference.
She’s a tidal wave, a force to level out
the wrong done upon her sisters.
The tides are made of her opinion.
You can bathe in her beauty, her fresh, pure springs.
She crashes, white, frothy surf, commanding
the attention of her audience on the beach.
She is holy water. She is nature.
You must drink her for life.
She is water,
Cascading, swirling, drowning in strife.
“Can I get directions to the end?,” she asked.
“To find End, go back to Began,” he replied.
“Take no baggage or holes in your heart. Sometimes you go to End to find where you start.”
She huffed, and she ranted, as the curious man strode away.
For she would not be able to make the end today.
We could banter,
Say all the things.
Whispering in moonlight,
Exchanging rings.
We could tell truths,
Deeper than sea.
Exchanging oxygen for words,
Until we’re free.
We could sing,
Our hearts the drums.
Making morning night,
Darkness always comes.
A year in the swirl of the twirl of a life
A blink and a tear from the center of her eye
It came, and it passed, unpaused by the strife
Ignoring the very question, an existential “Why?”
It spun, and it sputtered, finally rushing ahead
A child, somewhat wild, quietly perplexed
Dreams in rough shape yet decidedly undead
Broken, not battered, mildly vexed
Swiftly absorbing the ending of reality’s play
She’s a year, a lifetime, a decade of plenty
Living a lifetime in moments today
Flashing forward, to tomorrow, twenty-twenty
The cold steel gazes upon the fragile flower,
losing its petals in the breezeless sun.
Twisted metal climbing to the clouds while ivy dies on the trellis,
masking darkness only with fleeting life.
Mortal made versus a once eternal beauty,
and man versus a gift that gave a thousand-fold before sunset.
Where there was no end, concrete was placed stealing the illusion
that we could plunge into the sky
and dance along the points of light
to beyond what we know.
We gave it up, sold out, and found a temporary peace with each other
amidst the noise of reality.
Yet when I am alone, under a fall frosted tree,
I remember the mystery and the mastery
of the magic of the unknown.
I resolve to fight the man.
I resolve to shake the hand of the enemy of you and me.
I’m unbroken, outspoken, a healer of the heartbroken.
I resolve to solve your negativity with my undying electricity.
I resolve to love full the hole in your soul.
I’m unshaken, oft mistaken, an adopter of all things forsaken.
I’m a woman.
I am resolution.
Writer focused on fiction for middle-aged women with spunk
An Independent Non-Discriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations
Raku pottery, vases, and gifts
Kelly Rogers 