Wednesday, May 16, 2018

None of My Friends are Poets


In search of serenity, I walk.
My spirit moves to the
rhythm of a song, my
poetic thoughts unlock.
Later, I'll get back home
and my pen will overflow.
I'll write too much,
because the ego needs
too many words
to say so little.
But for now, I walk, and
a pelican flies over me.
We'll never touch,
but I send up my love.
I smile as its shadow
merges with mine
on the ground and,
just for a moment,
our souls intertwine.
I walk by the murky
gray-green of a pond,
the same color as my eyes
but, when I look again
the sun hits its surface
and it suddenly shines
like diamonds.
A beautiful song plays in my ears
in a language I don't speak,
but it doesn't matter
because music is a wonder.
Love. I say that out loud
when the song ends.

Walking, poetry, music...three of the joys of my life. Oh, and also the fourth: taking photos, which I did while taking my walk. Thank you, BTS, for the beautiful music!

Sunday, May 13, 2018

One Stone

One stone.

I walk on this earth
one seeker of billions
and I wonder what it is
the ground has witnessed
what must it think
about the mess of us
as we trample
our way across it

Each sharp pebble
each smooth stone
how does its story change
when a human hand
picks it up and skips it
across the river
taking it
from its home

Can it breathe
when it sinks
to the bottom
does it feel
abandoned and alone
or is it a new path
to freedom
from what it has known

Does it become broken
or does it fall unharmed
to the river's floor
do its colors become richer
beneath the water
does it dig itself in
become undercover
avoiding the others

Did it leave
a small piece of itself
behind on solid ground
are other rocks
waiting there
with broken hearts
keeping its place warm
wanting it back home

I walk on this earth
I'm just like those rocks
I trample across
one stone among billions
and Life
is the random pick
the quick flick
of that human hand.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Poetry: Wings

Robin’s egg.

Flocks of avian beings fly
in rows of breathing ribs
that soar across the sky.
Sometimes a feather falls
as an offering,
down, down to the grass
and I, the lucky soul
who walks by to find it.
A starling whirrs by
in a feathery blur
that smells
of earthworms and rivers.
A heron whooshes above me
and I can almost hear
the babbling creek
inside his beak
as a fish flops
in his mouth,
its scales so luminescent
I swear I can hear those, too,
because shimmer
should have a sound.

I wonder why birds flying
can bring me to tears.
I yearn to be
orioled, finched, wrenned
like they are.
The wings are the thing.
They remind me of angels,
those unseen beings I believe in.
I think these thoughts
as I walk without wings.
Sometimes in my dreams
I am one of them,
willing myself to take flight,
if only for a few moments.
But, on this morning
I walk down a sidewalk
across earth's timeline.
I spy
a delicate, blue egg,
fallen and cracked,
its world shattered
on the gravel of a man-made road.

© Sherri Brannon

I wrote this poem on my walk the other day...discovering the cracked egg gave me the perfect way to end it. Thank goodness for the Notes feature on my iPhone - I was stopping constantly to write down my thoughts. Thanks so much for stopping by.