Living Room-Southern California

What does it take to feel alive?
Warm sun, a fresh breeze, the breath of God.
Peace, quiet, the creak of a floor,
chiming of a bell in the distance,
the tinkling of a cat's bell.
The fragrance of a morning rose and fresh coffee.
The purr of a fan, the taste of a peach
the drone of a bee,
the deep in and out of a curtain
afloat on the morning's glory gifts.
He is here.
This is living.
This is room.

The View from Here--a Seattle Portrait

A mystery, really--these mute carriers
of a collection of qualities
known only to humankind.
The sway of the valise,
a pendulum of skin-covered appendages,
the flip of the handbag:
back-side, front-side, side-side
synchronized while hiking the concrete
sun-filled hillsides up to the top~
View Just Ahead.
Oblivious to said view
in their busy ant kingdom
they strain necks bookward,
heads poised at odd angles screenward
or eyes staring downward.
Were it not for the rude city sounds
punctuating the air and street
their safely stopping would be
in question.

Ah come the wise
and cheerful ones;
this time without screens or books in hand
but fists of flowers, posies from
the Market, bread from the bakery man.
Trained on the skyscrapers, brave
tourists follow, jaunty blue and white
sneakered young men.
Improving their education, retirees
bring up the rear, sunglasses atop
their summery heads, Canons and Kodaks
draped about the neck.

I record these words from my front seat perch,
relishing the record of comrades in view.
I watch them watching, capturing
beauty in sun and flower and sky
snapping at city scapes in awe and wonder.
The eyes remember what the ears dismiss
and my vision, peopled with His creation
here on Earth, as it must be in Heaven,
remains amazed by it all.
Linking with Kelly and the Small Wonder Community.
More beautiful words there.

Mirror Me

Words like water poured out
reflect my wide world,
contained in pieces, paragraphs
of pain and power and the past,
puzzles to put into place.
I long to be known
heard, seen, reflected 
in the pool you hold in your heart
showing me the "me" that I am.

Instead of a mirror,
you hand me a map
telling me where to GO
or a manual
telling me what to DO.
I just want the sounds
held up to me in my hearing, 
nearing my soul,
the whole of me.
When you repeat my words instead,
my heart in my ears,
I know the listening is done
and the love is there 
that says I'm heard.
I want to be known.