blown away - in shades of gray

the sky looked a little sad;

not the kind of sky that a good day
would choose, to unfold under
(if days – or people – could choose).

blossoms drifted from a nearby tree,
in saucy swoops,
and the setting brightened, a tinge –

as I meandered in shades of gray.

then:  a white petal
fell to me, so softly,

I was able to hold out my hand
and pluck it off an enchanted breeze –

and just like that . . . 

I was blown away.

photo:  Blossoms in Branches – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

knee hug

loudly, softly, loudly  

the sounds of children playing, waft round me 

like notes of music tinkling in misty coruscant glitters,

and cast my mind back to long ago moments – 

far from my geriatric park bench perch.

I feel younger – much, much younger –  
in the wisps of honey voices 
and odd, capricious breezy fountain spray.    

the backyard on Old Colony Road comes to me.

you are running, there, with Bilbo  
in sparkle beams, in sprinkler spindrift.

you’re laughing – buoyant with joy –  
happy as only a little child can be.

I remember, that day – in bursts of giggles –   

you said:  look at me, Mommy:  I’m swallowing the wind.

and then, you ran to me – arms open wide –  
and hugged my knees. 

Photo:  At the Water Park (with Matthew) – W. Bourke 

© 2013 Wendy Bourke

green cardigan sweater

the old cardigan sweater 

had fallen to the floor

strangely arranged

in a histrionic tizzy of a heap – 

a green woolly diva in meltdown –

not at all itself

(which was reliable and comforting and there)

and though I was having a bad day

(hence, my perspective I suppose) 

I picked it up and snuggled –   

blanketing myself 

in the familiar cozy thing

it smelled faintly of Vicks

and held a bedraggled dandelion 

in its pocket

and I felt my spirits lift, a bit 

note:  published:  Verse Afire (Ontario Poetry Society) Jan.-Apr. 2014 Edition.

photo:  Cardigan Sweater – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke