29 May, 2017

Red, Red Rose

We walk,
barely talk,
finger tip to finger tip
brush unknowingly,
like two strangers 
that just met.

We liked
one another, 
once, when we walked
hand in hand on a beach, 
far away now, we grew
on the vine.

We were tangents,
to our circle, we bended 
to the dedication of marriage, 
now we have grown
agreeably 
quiet.

The red rose is now thorny and white.




The Path


Walk beside me in the sand,
leave your footprint like
the ocean leaves agates,
unpolished, valuable

Embrace the silent roar,
waves crash
minds' lonliness replaced
its rhythm beats

Your agate is not mine,
your path is not my
journey, even though we
walk, we walk alone

The blank space is filled.


28 May, 2017

Content At Last

Gray chair wraped its arms
embracd my cold,
put me asleep 
even when abandoned

Diminutive, abounding in riches
surrounded by abundance,
waiting on the hour
when she'll come home

Spring is in the breeze, 
it's now the hour of contentment,
the key turns the lock
awakening blows in

Transcends all




25 May, 2017

Tornado

Tornado 

Wind bears down 
swiping at its path
metal, wood, glass
not immune from its tail

Expansion on its amplitude occurs,
widens its pea green, angry path

Should the horn that warns
the last sound heard, or
should the wind sound 
its train roar

Sun comes out and smiles,
an ironic smile.

19 May, 2017

Wind Sways

Red maple swings in the yard
and azaleas bow,
the finch sways to the music
while grasses rustle.

Sun beats the drum
on the skin,
the clouds move in a wave
while the ocean rolls in.

Astonishing moment.

18 May, 2017

Time

Time 

Spent time
like a rubber mallet
bounces off the clock
absent are broken parts
happiness-
surrounded my every being
work, laugh, play, every hour
filled with joy

Four months of joy.

Falling

Falling


Falling freely
into outstretched arms
grasp is absent, idle hours
to depart from sight

Heavy is the breath
like a crush in the chest

Black darkness
fills me with regret
fall into a life of silent
remorse

Too soon gone from my life.

Copyright Denise A White

02 May, 2017

Hot Sauce



Fourteen hundred square feet,
fitting in and cramped for space
finding shelves large, inconvenient;
back feels like hot sauce on your tongue.

Bending, twisting, kneeling now,
cleaning, spacious a word unknown.

Pounding, fixing, removing old window coverings,
atrocious light fixtures, replacing, donating to cause,
breaking down boxes, gathering quantities of packing papers,
moving boxes, large and small and extra large, barely fit through doors.

Back is melting like hot sauce on the tongue,
but a workable home is the final goal in weeks

Ten hours a day, and porch roof has a leak, too
escaping water daily as the weather has its way,
tall, lanky man on roof, guaranteed to stop the water,
everyday he hunts for the spot, every night it pours its way in

To finish, back will be permanent hot sauce.