Just some ramblings - a little poetry, some Creative Non-fiction, a picture of two - from Lake Hebron as I sit here on the front porch, staring across the water, listening to the loons, and enjoying the life of a retired English teacher. And please, leave me a comment, a note, tell me how much you loved -- or hated -- my writing, what it made you think of, made you feel, for it is poetry, meant to invoke in you what it is we share in common, what it is that makes us human.
That
first touch, fingers
trace a
soft face, newly born,
and now, wholly yours;
and a
head cradled,
whisps
of down, senses tickled,
light, fresh, a life held;
the soft
kiss of lips
pressed
to tiny fingers’ tips
reaching out for touch;
The
grasp, then, of fingers
clutching
yours, a brief touch gone
in letting go, time, too;
and the
rivulet
of
tears, wet and warm, streaming,
time’s touch remem’bring.
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