Tag Archive | tears

Scales of Justice

Rain can fool you.

It trickles softly
those secret licks that tease
your face into titling
ever upward tempting
beguiling moisture
that your dryness
lusts for.

Only to be drenched
when the floodgates open.

My tears and the rain
the same.

8/18/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Before the Sheets Could Breathe

Before the Sheets Could Breathe

Our worries
tangled,
your heated
breath sighed,
and my fingers
sweat traced
condensation trails
when in a sudden
inhale,
I felt
my surging
rain of laughing
tears wash
us both away
in our cloud
of cotton.

6/17/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Whether Vain

Whether Vain

I wake today
with the seed
of a fertile memory
and hope
the morning’s
translucent sun
will dance
its laughter
upon my tears
swirling
like a whirligig
and lift it
as leaves
in an October
breeze
upward to kiss
the branch that
wisely let go
yet the haunting
dreams that colored
my damp pillow
and clung the bits
of mixed emotions
into my tousled hair
can’t be brushed
away

4/27/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Finial

Finial

The darkness
gave it purpose
so the lamp
with the fleur-de-lis
bent its light
and cast
more dead flowers
to the floor
not knowing
my shaking fingers
wet with tears
would pull the cord
and finally shock
the living daylight
through me

4/12/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Riding Shotgun

Riding Shotgun

The wind felt
warm and free
not caring that color
drained from the flowers
in the ditch
faded like the tears
that placed them
now silent
the hammering
of wood
into unforgiving
dirt
it leans
as I pass
this cross
on the highway
not in control
I was free
to chomp
the last chip
but snatched
by jealousy
a plastic shroud
was hung up
with care
by the wind
so warm
and free

4/7/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Sweet Mystery of Life

Sweet Mystery of Life

It was the longing, seeking,
striving, waiting, yearning,
for rich milk chocolate
that tempted me
to sin.

The grocery clerk
slid other items by,
and I hung my head
to dig for quarters,
but the truth
hiding in my pocket,
was mine for the taking.

I felt past
my confessional days
with my back to the wall
where sliding screens
could diffused my sins,
and only the priest
would know why I blush
or cringe beneath
his blessing.

In my backyard,
a rabbit watched
as the candy wrappers
were the last to fall,
and without asking
he chomped my grass,
never spitting out
sweet guilt.

It was not love,
but love alone
that I was feeling,
and my salty stolen tears
at last I’ve found you.

4/2/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections –

Your Buckle Left its Mark

It came with no warning.

You’d laugh.

Toughen up
you’d say,
so I held
my bruises
close,
and they
were only
mine.

Till old age
restrained you
with tubes
and warning beeps.

In your stupor,
I could see
your paper thin
skin
thicken black
with karma.

And if you thought
I could hold back
my tears,
you’d be wrong.

Again.

Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Riding Shotgun in the Rain, Remember Man

Rain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetic Asides, Poem-a-Day Challenge April 2014
Day 1 – Beginning and Ending Poem

Riding Shotgun in the Rain

You might see that first drop
hit the windshield,
that splatter of insignificance.

But one small annoyance
will merge with another,
converging into liquid trails
downward, ever downward
heavy with purpose
in an attempt to cover
the whiffs of manure
leaving the farm.

So my futile tears
feed your intolerance,
till there is only a glass
of silence
growing between us.

We ride.

Remember Man

You have become
your arrogance,
a soft dusting of ego,
a pile of hypocrisy
crammed in a jar
with blackened bitterness
and irreverent assertions,
the arrogant intolerance
you would not swallow
in life.

In the end
you are dust,
thick and choking,
a smothering
of all you were.

11/16/2011 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Free Form

Free Form

I wish my emotions
could be boxed
or counted
neatly organized
by letter or number
but they chose
to slither
viscous and elusive
flowing into crooks
and crannies
until there is no more
place for the tears
to go but out
dressed to the nines
disguising themselves
as poems.

6/23/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Shadows Grew Light

Mushroom


Shadows Grew Light

The tree lost
a seed falling
landing upon the dew soft grass.

The earth allowed a space
to snuggle
till thin roots dug darkly deep.

I had to wet-knee crawl
as if my tears
knew the source of my pain.

Every dent in the moss
allowed me
to wallow.

Till the mushroom
shouted
hope.