Rosebush

The tiny apparatus beneath my tongue,
The one that forms a phrase,
and gives me strength to speak it,
Disappeared whenever I saw him.
Words – once friends, companions,
Would flee.

His face, so striking,
It rendered me speechless.
His beauty – erased every eloquent phrase
From my memory.

And it wasn’t like he was this crazybeautifulperfection,
It’s just that
He was this crazybeautifulperfection
To me.

Just a regular guy,
Unless…
You caught him looking at you
with love in his eyes,
Or captured sparkles of amusement
Which shone from their fathomless depths.

The smile,
Dear god that smile.

White and inviting,
Broad, generous,
Shining brightly,
A crescent moon formed just for me.
Waiting for a kiss.

His laughter,
I remember the laughter.
Voice soft like velvet is soft
And when he was lost in the mirth,
He was a picture
I ached to paint.

Preserve on paper,
Keep nearby
Always…
But my skills fell short,
Fall short,
Could never…
Capture
That spontaneous image.

Flaws?
Oh yes,
He had them.
But they were the sort that every rose bush has.

Thorns come with beauty, sometimes.
But I don’t know many who forbid the rose bush a home
in their garden.

And I wanted him
In mine.

The face,
The voice,
The laughter,
The heart,
The soul.
The very fragrance of him.

I wanted to wake near him,
and live near him,
And breathe him in,
Forever.

ajp

Evaporate

And he won’t go away
He’s under my skin
A part of my system
That will not give in.

It will not surrender
The memory of touch
The brightness of smile
That I loved so much.

I’d hoped it’d be natural
A slow dissipation
Like water from pavement
An evaporation.

Instead I’m possessed
With faithful affection
Instead of the shallow,
I have saturation.

He won’t fade away
From recesses of me
He is part of my soul now
And so shall it be.

ajp

Allow the Joy

When you stumble across something
Or someone
Wonderful
During your journey,
Allow yourself to feel the joy of that moment.
That moment that you discovered…
That moment that your world was made sweeter,
Even if it was just for one day.
And carry that joy with you as an elixir for when you grow weary.
Sip slowly from the cup of remembrance,
When lips are parched,
Even if you couldn’t keep the thing,
Or walk with the one,
You found.
You still have the happiness
Of discovery.
And some people don’t.
Some people miss the signals.

Hold tight to the memory.
To that burst of sunlight that came breaking through the clouds,
To the flower you found nestled in humble moss,
To that gentle smile that slipped past your eyes to puddle into your lowest depths.

It was yours,
Your smile,
Your flower,
Your sunshine,
For that moment, anyway.
It was Wholly
And Completely
Yours.

– leah ♡

Stormy Weather

When I was young, maybe 18, I stood on top of a hill in Manchester, MI, and watched a summer storm come in.

I stood in the rain and wind until my aunt made me come into the house for threat of lightning.

It was thrilling and scary.
I felt so small
And so ALIVE.

After a more recent rainstorm,
I was thinking about how affected the earth was.

The atmosphere was soft with a warm rosy glow.
The leaves on every tree, saturated.
The calm was thick,
And the surface of the world felt clean.

Rinsed,
Helpless to do anything but yield the power of the force that swept over its form.

It reminded me of lovemaking.

The slow beginning,
the softness of the rain’s caress,
Followed by increased intensity,
Thunder, lightning, passionate winds.

The earth, like a woman’s form yielding,
Gladly,
Gratefully,
Receiving,
Much needed attention.
Her body’s thirst, quenched
Every rose bush, lilac, tree.

Then, things grow quiet,
Thunder is distant,
Hushed.

There is peace,
Calm,
And evidence of something having left its mark on the world.
Like a woman’s world.
Now altered,
By her lover.

I wrote this poem of a woman standing in the rain.

The poem does not convey my experience on the day that I stood in the rain as well as I’d like.
Nor does it convey the depth of beauty in being loved by a thoughtful and a giving man.

But it came from the soul.

So I share it here,
Even though it isn’t Poetry Tuesday.
😉

STORM

I can see it coming,
Smell it in the air,
Feel the breeze on my face
Change to wind in my hair.

Soft rain
kisses my arms
Causing goose bumps.
Tenderness.

Wind moving over and around me,
Powerfully,
I welcome
Each caress.

Now thunder,
Darkness,
Lightning,
I endure it all,
Yielding,
The recipient
Of torrential rainfall.

Unafraid.

Storm reaches crescendo
And begins to quiet down.
I linger,
Listening hard,
For the sound
Of Thunder
Rumbling,
Softly now,
Filling corners of the sky.

I shiver.
I am drenched.
Sated,
*sigh…

Exhilarating thing,
The way a storm moves in
Captivating one
With power, light, and noise,
Possessing late night hour
With its presence, touch,
And voice.

Leaving the impressions
Of its moments on my form,
Raindrops on my lips, hair, skin.
Establishing its memory
Next to yours
Deep within.

Feet on pavement
turn toward home.
My mind, toward you.
The way you love me –

Exquisitely,
Thoughtfully.
Powerfully,
Thoroughly.

Darling,
You are storm,
too.

ajp
1/2016

Win their heart.

When I compare the woman I am today with the woman I was when I was young, I grieve.
Young me was downright mean at times.
I’m sorry for those days.
Life has a way of teaching us what matters.
Who matters.

You sit on the couch, involved in a heated argument, and your mouth is full of words that are just as effective as bullets.
You know they will destroy.
Rip, tear, wound the psyche of your opponent.
Make them bleed.
No, not bleed, hemorrhage.

In the past I would open my mouth.
Today, I swallow the words and respond slowly.

98% of the time. ♡

Young women today…
I caution you.
Choose words carefully,
Use them rarely,
And choose silence frequently,
Rather than blurt out a sharp retort.

You may win a battle,
But the bloody aftermath you find yourself mopping up,
Removes the thrill of victory.

The only victory,
The true triumph,
Is to win, not an argument,
But the very heart of the one with whom you are arguing.

– Leah

Fleeting Life

Story.
I remember one of the lessons I learned about the human heart.
I remember when I learned that love didn’t obey rules and regulations.
One form of love, anyway.

We met and it was instantaneous.
The draw, the attraction, the connection.

Neither of us were models of perfection when it came to the human form,
But each mind was a good fit for the other,
And nothing else seemed to matter.

There was no flash of lightning,
But there was electricity.

And impediments.

A great divide separating us,
A chasm,
A breach,
A canyon.

And no bridge.

It doesn’t happen to everyone,
But it does happen to some.

The meeting of someone you know would be a soul mate,
If they didn’t already belong to someone else.

I recall his saying, when we discussed the apparent connection,
that he was afraid we would end up hurting,
And I answered, “It’s inevitable. We will hurt, because we met and we already know we have to say goodbye.”

And we did.

Funny.
We look at monarch butterflies and marvel at their beauty, but forget about their brief life-span.

image
Exquisite Unkind Realities

Delicate wings and vibrant colors of a living thing that faces swift death through no choice of its own,
except that it is the proper order of things.

Noble.
Righteous.
Pure.

In a way, I’m blessed.
I experienced “it”.
The thing people talk about over coffee and gaze upon on silver screens and read about in books.
And in a way, I’m not blessed.
Because I never got to savor or embrace it, or enjoy it.

Just like the monarch.
Hard to catch,
but wonderful to catch a glimpse of
Before it stops its fluttering
For good.

– leah

A Pearl

I knew him long ago, and upon seeing him again after the passage of time,
I saw him as he was,
without filters –
without the preconceived notions that I’d developed during the abusive childhood and teen-aged seasons of my life.

I loved him as half-woman, half-child, barely grown-up,
When men were typically mistrusted.

And now, as an adult,
with a wiser heart and mind,
my devotion has only increased with
each
slow
reveal
of the soul within his body.

His gentleness makes him great,
yet he is a man of steel.
The perfect oyster –
Tough, yet fragile,
and look…
in the very heart of him,
a pearl.

image
The Perfect Combination

Seed time and Harvest, and Patience

When I feel impatient,
I picture a person in the middle of a corn field with the stalks half-grown,
Only waist high,
And the person is
Powerless, pouty, and selfish.
They are petulantly commanding stalks to grow,
To give ears of corn.
Because they want corn-on-the-cob,
and they want it now.

Corn Field Ashley K. Photography
Corn Field
Ashley K. Photography

The scenario is ugly.
It challenges me with a valuable silent message.

Life demands that we develop patience,
and much can be learned by nature’s example of seed time and harvest.

Everything has a season...
Everything has a season…

When it comes to what I want,
The moments when I want,
And cannot have, just yet.
I accept the process of growth,
And relax.

There are legitimate wants and needs in all of us.
But everything takes time.

The dream job,
The child,
The new car,
The cabin in the woods,
The vacation in Italy,
The love of an uncommon man,
and his kiss…

If a person is wise,
They will accept the rule of nature,
And hold the lesson of the corn field in their heart.

"September Morn on the Corn" By: jackalope22
“September Morn on the Corn”
By: jackalope22

I lived in a home for one year that had a very large window in its family room,
And if you looked through the window, you could see a huge field of corn that went back as far as you could see at the edge of the property.
I was privileged to observe this field in every season –
And each one had its own claim to beauty;
The season of winter, when snow sugarcoated the world with a sparkling crystal powder,
The season of springtime, when the furrows of earth were cocoa-colored mounds in perfect rows of narrow,

Cocoa in the spring.
Cocoa in the spring.

The season of late summer when the corn grew green and tall and was the perfect place for games,
Or hide-aways for lovers to embrace, surrounded by green sweet-smelling life.

corn field 2

It was a good year.
I never tired of the view through the window.

If a person allows themselves to stop fixating on a desire,
And starts paying attention to the miracle that is happening right in front of them,
Albeit, in slow motion,
They will learn one of the keys to happiness.
To be content in whichever state they find themselves.

My favorite field of corn is imagined.
I am walking through its rows.

Just enjoy the process.
Just enjoy the process.

Enveloped in sunshine, I hear a rustling whisper
My jeans, with the help of a lazy summer breeze, wakens leaves from their quiet sleepy state.

They brush against my legs
Tickling my hands,
And my heart rests inside,
taking pleasure in the fact
that something I planted is growing.

One day it will bear fruit.
But where it is today is enough,
Because it is part of the process.

Can you see me walking there,
in vibrant rows of green?
That is where I go
In my mind,
To remind myself
That something is growing,
That I cannot rush the process,
That Love is long-suffering,
And always always hopes.

And while love hopes it watches
The slow-motion miracle
Knowing
Fruit will come.

I will one day hold it in my hands
Like the perfect ear of corn.
It will be amazingly sweet,
Wholesome,
And Delicious.
I will savor it on my tongue,
And it will be
worth
every moment of the wait.

– leah

Flaws…

It does not happen all the time, but sometimes a person can love someone else so much, that the natural tendency to notice and be annoyed by flaws is outweighed by the strong affection residing deep inside.

We all notice flaws in people that we care about.

But when people love one another,
With the love that says, “Not My Will”
They discover an ingredient.
Rare, priceless, this ingredient facilitates their ability to tolerate what others would not.

And that is why some say love is blind.
But I say that true love is not blind.
I say true love sees, all too clearly.

And accepts their beloved as they are –
At face value –
Knowing
That just like rivers,
And even the face of a mountain,
The human heart can change
over time.

If I did not believe that,
I would simply despair of life.
I would even despair over my self.

– leah