POETRY

Newly Posted

 ONE MORE DAY

One more day…

     The sun does rise,

     The night-fear dies.

One more day…

     Of workaday chores

     And naptime snores;

     Of humming bees

     And wind-filled trees.
 

 One more day…

      For chocolate shakes

      And coffee cakes;

      For chilly rides

      Near splendid tides.

  
One more day…

      Of mundane talks

      On ambling walks;

      Of morning prayers

      For others’ cares.

  
One more day…

      A feather touch

      Suggests so much;

      An unsaid word

      Not quite unheard.

  
One more day…

      Of stolen hours

      And ebbing powers--

      Through gifted grace

      We walk the race.

 
 One more day

      Of giving thanks

 For one more day

      With you.

Last Three Posted

FRUITION

Alone, quiet, yet not at peace.

Buried beneath moist soil and rotting leaves,

I strain upward, pushing toward the warmth

But am repulsed by the heat of decay.

Down again. Solitary. Withering without peace.

The sun! The Sun! So pure and inviting.

I yearn for freedom from all that holds me, stifles me,

Though my roots, old and new-born, hold me fast,

Reminding me of where I belong.

There I stay—

Caught between the earth which is my womb

And the wind of life’s fullness.

I wait, alone, quiet.

I wait, quiet.

I wait.

I rest.

My fragrant bud appears.

I am at peace.

ORIGINAL GRACE

Tiny body wriggles toward the warmth

Of mother-scent.

Gleaming eyes wonder at, grapple with

Slippery sunbeams.

Thirsty ears drink in soft ticking

From----somewhere.

Crinkled nose draws in the crimson

Of the freshly picked rose.

Playful tongue samples the breath

Of the quiet breeze.

Everything is so apple-tempting new!

My Rose

You are my rose.

You were a bud, so tight-wrapped and closed,

Showing the faintest hint of the colors

That would be you.

You clung to the bush,

Protected by thorns—that self-conscious armor—

With a warning that reaching out or touching

Might draw blood.

You opened up slightly,

Tasted the sun and dew—saw that they were good.

With fear, you let yourself be carried inside

To brighten a gloomy room.

Nestled in your vase,

You drank the water offered you, absorbed the light

And admiration of all who gazed on you.

You began to open.

Now there you stand,

In breath-taking color—redorangeyellow glory—

Pedal-arms open to me, to us, to the great We

That is our love.

© Jackie O’Donnell (all poetry and verse appearing on this page)