Kindness is the soft trod
footsteps through the wildflowers
the song of the mockingbird
singing the brilliant sun awake
while the rest of the world sleeps
It is the planting of greens
and all colorful hues of the rainbow
when spring comes to provide a home
and food for butterflies, birds, and bees
It is the reverence for every living thing
a respect if you will, for the smallest
creatures to the largest of beasts,
the understanding of natures rhythm
Kindness is the soft trod footsteps
on this incredible earth, our mother.
Poets United Midweek Motif: Kindness
One last time
The light of the candles flickering across your face in the dark
My vision trying to capture perfect little glimpses of your eyes
Life seemingly paused for our accidental euphoric tangle
No words, only our breathe clocking rhythm and time
The silence in the sound breeding a paced breathlessness
Tantalizingly poured over my lobe as your soft lips touch whispering elation
Wrapping ourselves in to one another with smooth passionate flow
Our merging skin mapping desire and ferocity
An overwhelming dance that screams to entwine our tentacles
Sweat dripping off of our bodies absorbed in to the tossed white cotton nest
Hearts pounding, pressing flesh, droplets of intensity
One last time
Every small step counts. Every small gesture matters.
Kindness comes in all forms. Accept and embrace it when you see.
Pass it forward. It is like the flowing river, shaping and changing the lives of those who come along its way. Keep flowing and Keep growing.
Life never stops from growing nor from making mistakes.
You stop and stagnate like the ditch of stinking water.
Flow like a waterfall. A beautiful sight in its glory.
Life is movement.
Change is a necessary transformation.
Ask a child, ask a butterfly.
Megha Sood is a contributing editor at Whisper and the Roar and Ariel Chart. Her work has been featured in 521 Magazine, Visitant Lit, KOAN, Mojave Heart Review, Nightingale and Sparrow, Fourth and Sycamore, Pangolin Review, Paragon Press, Dime Show review, and featured in anthologies We…
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Someone is always home sick: chicken pox, strep throat, another chicken pox, stomach flu…Baby Bliss sits on her hip. It is only later that week, perhaps, when the house is finally quiet, the dishwasher humming in the downstairs dark, her husband not yet home, and upstairs the kids are asleep or at least pretending. When she is finally in the soft light of her own bedroom with her hair brushed and her face clean, sinking into the down pillows with something to read, she arrives in a moment that is her own and not in relation to anything else—not a carpool, a nursing infant, nor a man she loves. She is self-contained, not only a woman but the sole measure of her own life.
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“And it was then that I knew
what heartache and loss felt like.”
It was the silence. The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. The undeniable feeling that I’d lost something significant. Something I couldn’t define or even name. But it was a gnawing ache that continued to grow. And it wasn’t until I’d lived with that feeling for what seemed like a lifetime that I woke in the middle of the night with the whisper of your name on my tongue. And it was then that I knew what heartache and loss felt like.
© Sarah Doughty
Because I lost everything.
Strange, it’s literally aching
This heart that’s breaking
The pressure on my chest
Barely lets me catch a breath
This thick lump in my throat
Won’t go, as eyes overflow
It feels worse than death
Not knowing what to expect
I haven’t given you up yet
There’s still a few more tests
As I wallow painstakingly
Before the decision-making