A lesson unlearned
It seems like only yesterday
I stood and sang the song
It was '71 when Freda led
"Bring the boys home."

30 years have come and gone
Today more have died
We've learned not a thing
I'll stand and sing
"Bring 'em back alive."

Resonation
As his fingers make contact with the strings on the guitar
the sounds emanate and the vibrations fill the air with possibility.
The melody is soothing.
I lean back in my chair to listen more intently.

I close my eyes and let each sound resonate within my body.
The chords become their own language speaking to me.

As he begins to sing, I am distracted,
still seeking the pure language of his fingers.
I keep my eyes closed and contemplate the words and the sounds.
They are now one.

His voice speaks in a language I do not know but I feel the emotion
and somehow understand.

His voice softens and the guitar again speaks alone.
The sounds embrace me and a sereneness surrounds me as they slowly and quietly fade.

A New Day
The sun rises and the water glistens with the reflection of light.
The waves dance in a rhythm of celebration and a new day has begun.

The Window Beckons
The sun shimmers through the leaves on the tree,
creating many shades of green, and the window beckons to me.

The blades of grass inconsistent in height and texture look inviting.
The wind stirs lightly and branches sway gently to their own rhythm.

Dancing leaves and branches create shadows on the blinds and I am taken.

The grass is soft under my feet, the sun is warm on my face,
and the branches welcome me as I join in their dance.

I turn to see my shadow, across the window, join in celebration,
and the window rests.

When
I sat under the shade of a palm tree
and watched the world go by.
Unattached, unaffected.
The comfort of the breeze protecting from the heat.
The shade protecting from the sun.
And yet I wonder. Am I living or merely existing?
I must find the courage to reenter the world.
To wrestle the fear; to confront the unnerving.
To become more than a part of the scenery.

A Meeting of the Minds
Man . . . Woman
Boisterous . . . Flirtatious
Horny . . . Yearning
Sex . . . Sex
Cool . . . Passion
Sex . . . Love
Recoil . . . Sorrow
Fear . . . Pain
Avoidance . . . Resentment
Questioning . . . Desiring
Confusion . . . Wary
Discovery . . . Breakthrough
Open . . . Understanding
Happy . . . Joy
Acceptance . . . Contentment
Contentment . . . Acceptance
Man . . . Woman
Meeting

The Box
I live my life in a box. I am trapped in the box I live in.

My creativity is stifled and my soul is grounded.

I am desperate to fly free.

I can no longer bear the morning ritual of rising to the alarm clock to pull myself upward into another day.

I feel alone and must find the courage to set myself free.

Here and Gone
I sit on the lounge chair as the sun warms my legs.
I read my magazine and ignore the sounds that surround me.
I look up to see a flash of red amongst the trees.

A cardinal sits calling.
He is jumping from branch to branch.
He flutters his wings as he makes his way higher in the tree.

Is he calling me?
I lean forward in the chair to study him more closely.
He is silent.

I can no longer see him but I know he is there.
I strain to see him. He remains silent.

My eyes have not left the tree but I cannot find him.
The wind blows gently and the leaves stir.
He flies upward into the sky and vanishes.