Empowered Spirit

We cried a lot.  I cried a l ot. so I wrote a poem . -- I'm sitting in a park through one sun salutation  the breath of the sky turns gray and mother Earth sighs. T he year is 2080 - and I don't recognize you.  The bright oranges have dropped from the branches, decaying into the land. I firmly press my toes on the ground beneath my toes are rooted roots I sway, swaying slower while the green turns to brown turns to green. I invert, or the world is inverted?  sweet smooth faces shrivel,  and I touch the warm cheeks of a baby close to my heart.  I crossword, the fraying fingertips of my reality hold words. inhale, exhale. the vast blueness gleams with sunshine. The three bridges remain tucked behind the achy Oak tree. we share the quality of old growth as its branches start to sag. People move faster, yet I find solace cuddled into the hills with the frequent company over tea but rest escapes me and I tire q

It's National Poetry Month! April 2016 so I wrote a little something. __ A little closer to the edge foggy tips sit on morning fingertips, goosebumps fill her olive arms in the Altamont Valley where green hills - actually green - coat the backdrop as if an Irish bar will be placed precariously at its base. But like most mornings, the haze will dissipate and the climate will fluctuate Philly sweats then wears two sweaters while Californians expect sunshine even when it's January, she saw cherry blossoms in February. Aching sounds, construction won't falter because change is on the horizon. we are on the horizon, the dogwood patches dance in April breeze but car engines proclaim, "dominance." we are constructed roads, build high rises - maybe she is stuck in urban America. the seasons bleed together like the Bay meeting the Pacific Ocean waters are indistinguishable. in all corners of land I want to know if this if this cata