Free Verse Friday!

Am I to do this too?

Clean the dishes?

Sweep the Floor?

Paint the bathroom?  Today, I’m torn.

Write a poem, draw, or clean?

It’s really not so hard to see, right here on my pad of paper.

But decisions are made every weekend and most nights—tend to my family and home or breakaway

and play for the day?

About ...

Dreams and eternal things  … that hold hope and joy.

And I need order to begin.

Chaos can be tempered with mental-glue:

Hold tight to what’s bubbling inside my chest 

Pumping in my heart.

Rise up foolish thoughts and dreams of another world-- 
You win!

Last Summer I found volumes of poems from years ago, and I'm having fun re-discovering old emotions, many I still struggle with.    

I'd like everyone to join in "Free Verse Fridays".  If you do, leave your blog link in the comments. This may become a weekly project. 

Write. Write. Write. 

In any form or thought.  Don't ever stop!     

The Garden Meditation.

A garden for rest, respite, and revisiting thoughts -- or having no thoughts.

The flowers whisper with me; be still as the wind bows down, a whiff, and a lighter, heart-felt song of a stringed tempest.

A past that is at once familiar: A window opens then shifts before my body-self can understand.

It’s all right. Everything’s as it should be. The tempest came as I called it (just now), tickling me. I feel love wrapped in awe. Everything’s alive.

Thoughts are most crucial and must be guided.

I guard, and my guardian guards me, ancestors of the past?

I recall these things as I sit in this garden, the flowers speak to me: watch and listen, they show me. They do not “tell” me.

Pink slides romantic notions, yellow and gold, the sun’s glory unfolds, deep pink in longing and desire. Green heals; it absorbs and gives nourishment, ideas, and inspiration.

White bleeding hearts dip languidly, peacefully; everything around me, coalesces, more swirls form, again, a tempest spins into this spot I sit in the garden.