By Julie » Poetry

White Whale

julie — Fri, 01 May 2009 13:32:34 +0000

White Whale

The sun rises ‘bove the waterline
While morning starts with subtle motions
A wise white whale rises to the surface
Two knowing eyes fixed to his ocean
They slide so swift over the city
The whale looks down upon his land
Dolphins who were once cavorting
Are sleeping, blind to morning’s grand

The wind rolls wide upon the water
A caress upon the distant shore
A million tiny lives are thriving
Upon the tidepools’ rough floors
And through the fog, he sees a pair
Two seals- a mother and baby dear
And watching them as well as he
Scattered lobsters, who think them plenty queer

Within the cold hug of the sea
A million hearts live, warm as him
Each one asleep and nestled far
From shallow scrape of ocean’s rim
Adoze are urchins, stars, and many
Tiny things often looked over
His eyes peer through the screen of water-
A million corals and sea clovers

Each particle a world inside
Together made one careful life
So fragile and yet knit so strong
So seldom any mean of strife
The whale watches kingdom below
Each tiny person bound to sleep
And thinks about his own in many
Lives within the ocean’s deep

He basks in life’s dear wistful silence
Contemplating all that he surveys
While the world spins, so life thick around him
He sets back off into his waves

Sunset On A Roof

julie — Fri, 01 May 2009 13:31:36 +0000

The air smells like rain
Like the day has worn it
And it setting it back upon a dresser
To be worn again tomorrow
Colors streaking across the land of the heavens
Painting across the sky
Casting the day’s final gift of shadows
Shading eyelashes upon my cheeks
The waters across the way reflecting
The pigments saved until the end
Collected, concentrated
When the day closes

The roof shingles rough under the weight of my hands
Heat dusting across my face
The last glimmers of light dancing
Across my hair, fading its color
As it crosses into the world of night
My eyes beginning to pencil in
To the tones that end the day
The roof an angled surface under me
Legs stretched, arms propping me up
The darkened eyes upon my face focused only on the sunset
The ending of the light of our world

The night rimming the horizon
A scattering of stars beginning to peek out
Their faces bright
Peeking into the air ready to be renewed
For the next day
An innocent touch of pink like fingerprints
Smudged through the shadowed clouds
Touches of deep orange, the picture of life
Almost artificial in their perfection
The last stars of the light
Shining their bright, inspirational hope upon the land
An invisible caress on my brow
As the sunset rages on above me
Subduing into night
The feather of life
The sunset

Milo’s Evening

julie — Fri, 01 May 2009 13:31:03 +0000

Bashful
Cautiously, even though he
Knows me well
He approaches in a slow gallop
The sound of his hocks
Padded and slightly a faded yellow
Muffled by the carpet
The iSnooze singing
Classical music
Over the vague whistle
From the white-pink button of his nose

Two ears flopping
Like hot furry shields lengthwise, protecting
The sides of his head
Limp tail like a cotton ball
Sewn to the back of him, shadowing close behind
Dark eyes like
Ebony Marbles
Focusing pools of dark chocolate on me
He creeps closer.

A moment like a soap bubble
Of delicate simplicity
Fragile and precious as it floats through the air
He places his front paws on me
Silk against the roughness of my blue jeans
Wiggling, breakable claws kneading
He stares up at me, his nose working at the air
And replaces his paws upon the floor
He hops gracefully back across the carpet
Resting his head on his paws
He pushes himself into the floor
And the bubble rises
Into the heavens

Faerie Winter

julie — Sat, 13 Dec 2008 17:14:38 +0000

Lights
Dappling light glows on,
Faerie eyes a-twinkling…
Christmas trees festooned with love
Stars serenading from above
Swirls of snow due from the north
Faerie voices ringing forth
Carols, voices, knit together
Crystal snowflakes, faeries’ weather
Bells
Short and silver ringing on
Faerie laughs a-tinkling…
Scents of pine and scrumptious pies
Holiday cards and pleased replies
Creatures nestled in trees’ hollow
Sow raccoons with pups to follow
Excitement, joy, and love a-clinging
Masterful the faeries’ singing.

Queen

julie — Sat, 03 May 2008 17:31:16 +0000

On a bright, cheerful day
Skipping round, giddy with joy and spring
And warm weather
Caressing us with a warm, gentle breeze
The sky is bluer than blue could be
The grass is bright and greener than green
The flowers have sprung from the ground
In a frenzy of bright, colorful petals
Some of which
Flap their wings
And carry on to another back yard
As butterflies and bees.
Suddenly, all is quiet,
A hush comes over the garden,
Our world seems to freeze.
A jewel, a bright jewel of green and blue and red
Rises, over the fence
Hovering in a regal way,
Its long, thin beak turned up.
Humming bird, queen of the garden,
Lands in a sea of flowers
Which bob up and down for her amusement
Takes off again, properly buzzing
The Queen takes a sip
From her royal feeder
Slurping nectar so daintily
So fragile
I can see why this tiny jewel-bright creature
Is a Queen.
The bird, in all her splendor,
Drinks to her pleasure,
Thanks the flowers politely,
Picks her royal self up
And flies away with her royal Queen posture.
I rest back on the grass,
In wonder
Of what I have witnessed:
The Queen of Mother Nature
At teatime!

What Will Tomorrow Bring?

julie — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 15:37:08 +0000

When the sky begins to darken
And the stars begin to sway
I like to sit and think about
What will happen the next day.
Memories of anger, sadness,
Or hurting, it might include,
A dark and grumpy ring to it
Or a sticking sour mood.
But then again, it could so bring
A striking sense of joy
A trace of swelling happiness
A day you will enjoy.
It could be a mysterious day
Or relaxing, nevertheless,
Or equally exciting
Or one full of peacefulness.
As the sun begins to lower
And the owl begins to sing
I like to stop and wonder this:
What will tomorrow bring?

Inspiration

julie — Sun, 13 Apr 2008 15:35:39 +0000

I pick away
Through all the thoughts
I’ve ever thought to think
Picking away for things to write,
Put down in
Pen and ink.
Although I may grow thirsty
I’ll soon find some tucked-away spring:
Wonder why I have not looked
Right here
For anything?
I’ll chip away through all the rubble
And find some chips of treasure:
A good idea, a rhyme sometimes
An ending for good measure.
If I look behind the bend of
My experience, I am told,
I sometimes search around and find:
Oho! I have struck gold!
Sometimes the things I’m looking for
Come in dreams I almost forgot
Possibly a hanging wish
Or an accidental thought.
When my cart of pleasure is filled so full
I take it to where I can melt
And spin my bits of treasure to
Something witty or heartfelt.
Then, I hurry back to my cavern
Of infinite fascination
And pick away at all my thoughts;
Mining for my inspiration.

A Lazy Marsh

julie — Fri, 07 Mar 2008 23:06:07 +0000

The constant buzz
A marsh secretes
On a summer afternoon

The water alive
With bugs, water striders,
Overhead flies an old mother loon

The dragonflies
Do not surprise
For their buzz is a part of the tune

A lazy lizard
Rests his pleasure
On a miniature dirt and sand dune

A furry furry
Animal laps up water
With a tongue like a spoon

A muddy minnow
Floats away
Down the muddy, marshy lagoon

All of this
In an ordinary marsh
In a lazy, hot day in June

All of this
All before
The presence of the moon

These lazy days
Will come again
When the mood is set like this, quite soon

All of this
In a lazy marsh
On a hot summer afternoon.

A Crowded Beach on a Hot Day.

julie — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 22:29:17 +0000

Hot sand, wet sand
Between your toes,
Splashing cool waves
Hugging your feet,
Bright colors
Flashing all around you,
An umbrella set up over a towel
In a small space
You have been lucky to get,
Scents of hot dogs and lemonade
Drifting through the air around you,
Salty ocean waves
Refreshing your sense of smell.
Seagulls dancing and squacking
Their familiar sound,
People laughing and talking and screaming.
Tastes of
Salty ocean air and
freshness.
A crowded beach
On a hot day.

The Spy

julie — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 22:17:16 +0000

Bounding back and forth in the grass,
Stopping, listening quietly to make sure that nobody quite close to him,
Ducking down low,
Teeth chattering, nibbling on something nervously,
There is a loud stomping sound,
Shaking the earth as someone runs toward him,
He bolts off, dashing
Into his tiny burrow, where only the human’s hand can fit.
A rabbit in a field.