Recordings of memories jump into my head.
Sending all kinds of vibes.
Sometimes making me want to cry.
I hold on to a vision.
It takes over each breath.
Provoking renewed feelings.
Prized possession, this collection of memories from long ago.
Day: January 28, 2021
The prettiest gal in town…
The prettiest gal in town
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
Just words.
The prettiest gal in town….
She wore her Summer dresses year around. She loved the Monterey weather and she always carry a smile to share with me. She shared her kind words and she would listen to me.
She would sit in silence and I would speak my poetry to her. We would discuss the sea, John Donne, Hemingway and Salinger. I would find her waiting and alone by the Monterey pier. Her ginger hair laying gently on her soft shoulders and being sun-kissed by the evening falling sun.
She asked me often. Why do you seek me everyday? I am not the prettiest girl you know? The pretty girls, do love you. The dark poet who demand nothing and write by the sea.
I told her. You are the prettiest gal in Monterey. Your heart of gold…
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Lilac wine…
Lilac wine
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She whispered, maybe, maybe not. Let’s allow the lilac wine, to write the story for us.
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Life is many colors, we can paint her black, we can paint her red, we can paint her white. We decide the beginnings, the endings.
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Let’s fall in love, we have the lilac wine, we have time. The sea is near and the night is long. Please make me believe, love is near. Please whispered to me, who you are and where we are going.
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I am intoxicated by your face, your beautiful voice steal my thoughts. You are my heaven, my safe place. You are my moon, you are my morning rising sun. You are my reasons to be brave and unafraid. I love you more than the desire to give-up.
Dancing Coyote
Naming Grief
How do you talk about a sunset, without sounding like every conversation about sunsets?
At the market, the checker she says, The sunset is beautiful—I love that I can watch it from this window.
I say, Oh yes, the colors are stunning. Those pinks, those yellows.
Then, when I get home, my mother-in-law, she says, Did you see the sunset?
I say, Oh yes, the colors are incredible. So bright.
Words replaced but constant in their meaning.
How do you talk about a sunset? How do you talk about anything, really?
About grief.
About a caged bird who sings of freedom—
Clipped wings that do not dip into a sunset or a sky.
Everyone asks how we are, but everyone is doing terribly—
How do you talk about grief?
Lovely and lonely and lyrical,
Grief rolls me about inside her mouth like a small pebble
Teaching me to be quiet…
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Distorted from downpour
Without you there, rubbing against my emptiness
I am a scream
begun without end
I may close my mouth
I may purse my lips and paint them
I may say yes please and thank you very much
and still dial your number
that no longer exists
just to hear it ring
in my mind
once
twice
three times
it may be you
on the other end
picking up, I can hear the lint
of the connection stretching like walkers on wire
a crackle, a fizz, the ghosting hiss of you
what are you saying?
Rolling down bled city streets with lights
hanging like old bottles, catching stray saline
I strain to hear
through ceaseless whiteout of rain
it is yellow against brown glass
distorted from downpour
slapping wetly in time to lost rhythm
pirate radio in storm, trying to reach land
crackle, fizz, pop, static … spreading her fingers
we…
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52 days until Spring – Eugenia
A collection of Winter haiku –
winter amusing
laughing snowflakes side by side
repeat the applause
doldrums without end
downfall of the four seasons
twisting of passions
trees laden with snow
skyward moon spectacular
winter takes the stage
winter mysteries
giggling snowflakes keep secrets
luring us in close
moments from the past
porcelain snowflakes abound
a trove of treasures
© Eugenia Hoffman
Eugenia enjoyed a dedicated career in the insurance industry for over 20 years being rewarded both professionally and personally. Now it’s time for Eugenia to follow her dreams by doing things she enjoys…spending time with family, learning, sharing, traveling, and writing poetry. Eugenia’s writing and creative endeavors can be found at her blogs, Eugi’s Causerie and Eugi’s Potpourri. Eugenia has authored eBooks Fanciful Delights and Mama, me and Mother Nature, and also has writings at Spillwords Press, PoetrySoup, and beBee.com.
Photo byEmmanuel LamboleyfromPexels
In the Early Light of Dawn
“You fling it open for the first time/ but I’m gone” -M Kahf Wall
Though now gone from your tender sight
if you look for me in early light of dawn
when colors are afire in a painted sky
and birds are greeting the coming morn
you will see my dear face high in white clouds
looking for you to say hi
And in those times remember when
we were inseparable, you and I
remember the profound unquestioning quiet
in my unwavering brown eyes
remember the warmth of my furry body
pressed close to your own in the night
Grieve not for me for I will always be near
for our two hearts are inextricably bound
and though you must shed oceans to heal
and there will be days of immense grief,
once the rushing tides of sadness ebb away
here I will be by…
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A Photograph
A Walk Down Memory Lane!
Do you remember
All those crazy times?
All the crazy things
That we did with crazy minds?
Do you remember
How crazy I used to be?
How crazy you would make me?
Oh those crazy days
Do you remember
How I used to laugh?
Now all that’s left
Is a photograph
Do you remember
How my eyes lit up
Whenever I saw you?
How my smile widened
Whenever I spoke to you?
Do you remember
How we lay side by side
Gave names to clouds
And watched them float away?
Do you remember
How you used to laugh?
Now all that’s left
Is a photograph
Do you remember
The day when we first met?
The first words we spoke?
The first fight we had?
Do you remember
The last time we met?
The last chat we had?
The last time we loved?
Do you remember
How we used to laugh?
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That I Might – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon
At dVersed Laura is hosting poetics with an invitation to think about endings, and, using an ending of a known poem to begin our own.
dVerse Poets – Poetics – Beginning at the end
I have chosen “Call me to lie down in fragrance.” from the poem ‘Season of Lilac’ by Dave Margoshes
“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.” Zelda Fitzgerald
That I Might Call me to lie down in fragrance beyond where the wattle's spring glow speaks of love immortal, that I might rise impassioned with a scent of all my tomorrows vested in your every movement, dance your fingers slowly upon me that my life would spill over. ©Paul Vincent Cannon
The Stupid
it’s taken years
decades even
to silence the frustration within me
fomented by the uneducated, misinformed and willfully ignorant
the things they say are detrimental
to our well-being and existence on this planet
cohabitation with those who wish us harm
is not the kind of world i want to live in
they wouldn’t know an informed decision
even if it came up and introduced itself
no progressive action stands a chance in the hands of the stupid
as they continue to breed disinformation
while i fear for our future
i’m learning to let go of unproductive anger
and turning off the desire to engage
or even trying to educate a non-existent intellect
they are beyond help
they are the die-hard ignorant amongst us
i will leave it to the professionals
to change their minds and hearts
The Reluctant Poet 