Soul Whisper

Breathe, said the teacher. Breathe and be.

My soul whispered, “Follow me!”

As I sat and breathed, my soul and I walked

As you’d expect, I mostly talked.

“I can’t understand, just can’t cope.”

My soul was quiet – was there hope?

Breathe, said the teacher. Breathe and see.

The child just ahead looked like – me!

The little girl waved me on;

I wondered how long I’d been gone.

We ran up a gentle hill

And saw a brook by the trees so still.

“I remember this stream, where I once sat!”

And after I marveled at that,

I saw my father who’d long since passed:

An angry man found peace at last.

“Never worry,” said my Dad

“It did nothing but made me sad.”

I pondered this, then saw my cat,

And heard his purr – how about that?

I’d forgotten favorite colors, too:

Burgundy and aqua blue,

The perfume I wore to English class,

And my first martini glass!

“It’s all with you, you just forgot,”

My soul chuckled. My face felt hot,

Embarrassed to shed a silly tear.

My soul whispered,

“I’m still here.”

© Judith C Evans 2011

Written for Thursday Think Tank's prompt #76 -- soul's whisper
and posted at Thursday Poets Rally #57

Many thanks to Thursday Poets Rally at The Poetry Palace for this award...I am humbled and honored! I nominate NeiNei for the award.

Winter winds blow ice
but poetic souls gather --
encouraging words.


  

Surprised by Sunlight

Sunlight, on a whim,
Frames cracks in the limestone wall --
The yard work can wait.

Written for Haiku Heights prompt #96 -- light

From the laundry: visual small stones

As I sat in the laundry room, wishing I had time to take pictures and write poetry, I noticed colors, shapes and shadows a few feet away. Although I didn't have my "real" camera with me, I was able to capture some of these images with my cell phone camera. They have become "visual small stones" -- everyday images that shouldn't be taken for granted.

So, pay attention and see the possibilities! Inspiration is all around you, even in the laundry!

Laundry room floor colors

Same colors reflected 

Later on -- apartment window blinds

Rebirth

words long presumed dead --
ashes released from an urn --
the first verse ignites

© Judith C Evans 2011

written for Haiku Heights prompt #95 -- urn

Small Stone #9: Tea Break

black tea and cookies:
such peace from fermented leaves
and fat molecules

The Book of Life

The Book of Life awaits my name;
No time to listen to that still, small voice.
I double check rules,
Craft fireproof plans,
Push you out of the way,
And race toward my calling,
Afraid that you will get there first.
That's my calling.

The still, small voice has plenty of time,
And tries to tell me:
"Love one another."

© Judith C Evans 2011

Written for Carry On Tuesday prompt # 129: "Love one another."

Ghosts

computer screen blinks

I stare as ghosts stare back

writer’s block  



©­ Judith C Evans


For Thursday Think Tank #72 -- writer's block
       Haiku Heights #92 -- ghosts
Join us!

Drought

grass snaps underfoot
as a breathless Texas night
sighs and waits for rain

© Judith C Evans 2011

For Haiku Heights prompt #58 --Breathe

First Visit to Farmer's Market

I finally find time
To visit my small city's
Community Farmer's Market.
Every Sunday, from June through October,
At 8 AM in the parking lot
Across from the Amtrak station,
The stalls open.
The Northern Arizona mountain air opens my eyes.

I admire glistening bunches of Swiss chard and Lacinato kale,
And overflowing baskets of purplish heirloom tomatoes
And grass-green sugar snap peas.
The jostled pea pods squeak as I fill a plastic bag.
Clear glass jelly jars of water, filled with aromatic stalks of
Cilantro, basil, oregano and spearmint,
Catch the sunlight and sprinkle prismatic colors
Over stacked jars of homemade black currant jam.

At one crowded stall, a teenaged girl in a straw hat
Slices a fresh, raw turnip.
"Try some turnip," she insists, offering a snow white slice
On the end of a toothpick.
I shrug. Turnip is turnip.
The crisp, wet slice snaps in two in my mouth,
Releasing gleeful layers of living flavor.
So that's what turnip tastes like.

© Judith C Evans 2011

Written for Thursday Think Tank #60 at Poets United. This week's prompt is Market Days. Join us!

Biographer's Meditation

In school we studied names and dates
Of you who came before
But stories whispered in my dreams
Tell me there's so much more.
I thirst for more to memorize,
More links to eras past.
From pages of debates and wars
I hear your voice at last.
I must write your story;
I must try at least.
Now sparks from your soul
To my heart increase.
With unfrozen breath
From you whom we call "dead"
I transcribe with devotion
Things you might have said.

© Judith C Evans 2009

Submitted to Poetry Pantry #60 at Poets United.

July 31

From ornamental olive tree outside laundry room: July's lavender snowfall.

July 30

Our black, brown and white cat stretches out under the ceiling fan, dreaming with one eye open.

July 29

An original thought battles cross currents and drought to wash up on an uninhabited page.

July 28

Internet connection temporarily lost -- brain awakens to this moment.

July 27

Computer-red eyes gaze gleefully at the calendar: four more small stones after tonight!!

July 26

Black pepper-flecked country gravy fills mashed potato valleys.

July 25

On the windowsill of my mother's room, our cat stretches in bright evening sunlight.

July 24

The usual patch of light: an imperceptible change nudges us toward fall.

July 23

Crumbly, steaming whole grain blueberry muffins draw surprised, sleepy-eyed smiles.

July 22

Softened green roadside weeds and grasses thank the rare raindrops.

July 21

A nestling, all feathers and fuzz, huddles against our wall and listens to our worried voices.

July 20

Grackles finished nesting, and we can hear the neighbors' wind chimes again.

July 19

Living waters bathe the sorrowful soil. Hope, bewildered, sends up green shoots.

July 18

Cracked, sun-stricken soil turns to powder in brush country wind. Brass-colored cornstalks stand tall.

July 17

72% of Texas in exceptional drought: a statistic for some, singed cornfields and auctions for others.

July 16

Cool, sweet, crunchy shapes in cold milk: bedtime snack.

July 15

Our cat's warm, purring body nestles against my chest as he kneads the day's burdens from my shoulder.

July 14

Wrote "just one more post"...my numb fingers beg my brain to look inward.

July 13

Alone with chocolate-cake-in-a-mug recipe: bakery aromas waft from the microwave as husband and cat sleep.

July 12

Blue and white networking pages: which "real me" is on what resume?

July 11

Three articles later: burning eyes, temperamental internet connection. Good night.

July 10

Blackbirds invite the evening with song as Monday creeps in too soon.

July 9

 Whole wheat pizza dough's beery aroma permeates the kitchen as chopped tomatoes glisten on the bamboo cutting board.

July 8

Friday evening: in a grayish tan stoneware mug, steaming lemon balm tea with raw sugar is quietly pressed into service.

July 7

Object of game: line up matching gems. A flurry of worries dissolves into flashing, tumbling, orange, blue, red, green, and yellow jewels.

July 6

Coffee-colored yarn loops around the blue crochet hook. Our cat, mesmerized, plots and schemes as the skein unwinds.

July 5

Spent, we drive home after my appointment: towering, benevolent live oaks recall Texas afternoons hotter than these.

July 4

We busily reflect on self-evident truths as July Fourth dinner sizzles in the skillet.

July 4

Vintage beads, Ancient "Light", Heart of Joy!

small stone written by my husband, John Evans

July 3

Soft feline fur-angel kneads and squints.

July 2

Pastel art: layer upon layer, powdered pigments coat my fingers in peach, sky blue, and French gray silk.

July 1

White-gold grass tops barely nod in the thick Texas breeze.

Blind

Behind the blinds
our cat crouches, stalking moths
-- dream big

© Judith C Evans 2011

[Written for Haiku Heights prompt #48 -- blind]

Last Day of School

Ponytailed six-year old:
Last day of school means
First day at the beach.
Bags packed with sunscreen and towels confirm the good news
--three months of freedom!

A gull, perched on a sea wall,
Blankly stares at passersby.
We pour tartar sauce over clam rolls
And unwrap pastel pink, green and yellow
Salt water taffies.

Later, we'll drive home in our
Coppertone-scented clothes.
For now, as waves ebb,
We explore tide pools,
Collect pale green sea glass,
And walk for miles on smooth, wet sand,
Where our footprints vanish as soon as they appear.

© Judith C Evans 2011

[Written for Thursday Think Tank prompt #54 -- the beach/ocean]

Winter's Watch

Winter watches with bated breath.
Autumn ignites a fiery death spiral.
Winter waits in respectful silence.
In the interim hush, the darkest nights
Herald the newborn sun.
Winter quietly steps forward as we close the blinds
And make tomorrow's careful plans.

We awaken early for work or school,
Mistaken, we're sure;
Only a Sunday morning would
Be so still.

Winter watches, amused,
As indignant surprise and rattling plows
Mingle with youthful delight and scraping sleds.
Feral cats stare at us,
Assigning blame for this outrage.
Winter sighs, depleted.

Sunlight, too brilliant for comfort,
Blossoms from the clouds in a southwest wind.
"Good thing," we remark,
In a nod to those who wait outside
The rescue mission across the street.

© Judith C Evans 2009

[Submitted to Thursday Poets Rally #46...join us!]

Despots, bow

Names enslave.
God breaks free from bricks, stained glass.
Despots, bow.

© Judith C Evans 2011

[written for Haiku Heights prompt--Slavery and Poetry Potluck prompt--dictatorship, autocracy, despotism]

Blessed Bear

Bear,
How blessed you are.
You sleep away the winter;
When the spring runoff cracks the ice,
You smash through chilly, rushing waters
To retrieve the choicest salmon.
When the sun warms your back,
You meticulously forage for blueberries
And delicately lick honey from your lethal paw.
Bear,
How blessed we are
To follow your shadow,
To hope for a glimpse of
Your solitude,
Your mystery,
Your freedom.

© Judith C Evans 2008

Submitted to Thursday Think Tank at Poets United prompt #52 -- animals

Porcelain

Dime store porcelain:
dusty veils disguise your worth
-- Nana's chipped blue cup

© Judith C Evans 2011

[Written for Haiku Heights prompt #46 -- porcelain]