Poem Thirty-One

 

The Witching Hour

 

I can feel it in my bones as the hour draws near.

That time when worlds collide, when planes of

existence begin to blend together, creating rifts

and tears where none should exist. A weight begins

to settle in my stomach, a feeling of warmth that

spreads through my body – I must prepare.

 

I lay my tools on the alter in front of me: a bowl

of water, a dish of soil, a lit candle, smoking

incense, and a gleaming silver athame. Feeling

confident that all is as it should be, I settle back

on my heels and close my eyes, taking deep

purifying breaths for several minutes. As the

clock chimes three, my eyes snap open.

The witching hour is upon me.

 

The ritual is a familiar routine, bless the space,

invoke the elements, thank the ancestors. I feel

grounded as I commune with the spirits that guide

me. As my time in the circle draws to a close,

I once again show my gratitude for all the help

I have received over the previous year and ask

for guidance and protection in the year to come.

 

I place my sacred supplies back in their

designated homes and make my way to

the comfortable bed that is now beckoning

my weary body. Laying my head down on

my soft pillow, I drift off to sleep with happiness

in my heart and a clean slate for the new year.

Poem Thirty

 

Renewed Inspiration

 

When the end draws near and the job is nearly over,

after all your hard work, you imagine you’ll be filled

with relief, but somehow, it’s bittersweet. You know

you can relax, but you no longer have a set purpose,

a focus for your anxiety, a reason to motivate you.

How do you continue when your vision is done?

 

You find a new vision and set to work again.

Poem Twenty-Nine

 

Reminiscences

 

The air sweeps my hair back

as I round the corner, pumping

my legs on the pedals to keep

the wheels turning. The joy of

riding a bike I felt as a child has

come back to me. Memories of

gliding down a quiet, residential

street flood my brain as I pass a

dog walker, rounding yet another

corner of the park trail. I’m no

longer the same girl I was then,

but for just a moment, I feel

as carefree as I once did.

Poem Twenty-Eight

 

Migraine

 

It starts with a twinge,

a slight feeling of pressure

in my head that gradually

becomes a small pain. I

massage it, hoping it’ll

go away. Then I start to

notice that my head has

become hotter than normal.

And the pain has spread.

I take a couple Excedrin

and lay down, trying to

take the pressure off my skull.

With any luck, it’ll be gone

within the hour, or at least

by the next morning. If not,

a hot shower and extra sleep

may be just what is needed.

 

Thank goodness these only

happen on rare occasions.

Poem Twenty-Seven

 

Aggravation

 

One thing goes wrong and everything else

seems to follow suit. I can’t seem to get away.

Once I’m annoyed, I stay annoyed. The smallest

irritants that shouldn’t cause me any grief just add

to the rolling ball of exasperation that is building up

in my stomach. The only way to dissolve the frustration

is to have something go right, and then something else

go right. This pattern has to continue until I’m back

to my normal self or the fury starts to rise again,

unabated. It just does not seem all that fair.

Poem Twenty-Six

 

Work Work Work Work

 

All I seem to do is work –

every day, all day long,

rain or shine, calm or storm.

I can’t seem to find the time

to sleep enough on most nights.

When will this torture finally stop?

Who knows? I need a nap.

Poem Twenty-Five

 

Inscrutable

 

Mysteries abound in life

and while it is fun to figure

some of them out, there are

others that should be left alone.

 

Can you determine which is which?

Poem Twenty-Four

 

Catcher of Dreams

 

Intricately tied in knots around a thin golden

hoop, it’s thread creating a geometric pattern,

meant to keep any bad dreams stuck in its web,

allowing the good ones to seamlessly slip through

the center opening. Resting on the wall by my bed,

it keeps me safe through the night, until the morning

sun comes to burn all the negative thoughts away.

Poem Twenty-Three

 

Heart Shifts

 

We live in thoughts, not breaths;

We should count time by heart-throbs.

~Philip James Bailey

 

Her pulse quickened as he stepped into view. He turned

and his bright eyes met hers, causing her breath to catch

in her throat. He walked over, a smile playing at the edges

of his mouth. Her heart pounding out a staccato, her palms

slightly moist, she shyly smiled as he stopped in front of her.

 

With one simple hello, their lives were changed forever.

Poem Twenty-Two

 

Fancy Talons

 

Sparkly blue or deep burgundy;

forest green or sunshine yellow.

Cascading snowflakes or curious foxes;

elegant stripes or fanciful polka dots.

Matching shades on toes and fingers;

shaped into points, squares, or ovals.

Long and graceful or short and stubby;

filed and shapely or broken and rough.

No matter the color, design, or shape –

my nails are happiest when they’re

rightfully dressed for the occasion.