Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

driving through the dark
steering with one hand
searching coat pockets
for a tissue. How much time
we spend in the dark, in the cold,
racing forward while still searching
hoping to find something
soft

Factory lit up
brick framed windows
welcoming
warm against the dark.
A banner waves in the wind,
proclaims,We’re Hiring!

At the other end of town
brick high school shelters
those preparing for the journey

Something small and swift
maybe a house cat
maybe a young fox
runs across the road
making its escape

I move nearer the window to write with a view to the east. Instead of sunrise, day drifts in with a gradual graying, dark to light. After an hour…after two, still in pajamas with steaming mug of coffee and streaming ink of words. The few cars passing are hunched in snow, headlights on.
Next up, yoga and cocoa and springtime thaw.

even the snow plow
shushes along
muffled by winter

Yesterday
out of the blue
a long day of cheerfulness
a mood in a yellow dress
carrying puppies and flowers
laughing oh she was all
the cliches at once
but still so welcome, this visit
from a long long long
lost self. Where did you come from?
was the question I
almost
asked all day but didn’t
in case it startled the smile off her face

from this snow stubbled field
ragged edged weeds, distant tree line
all cold white dust. Watch.
A mysterious signal whispers Rise
to the dark foraging flock, as one,
As One, the birds rise and circle the barn
and your heart lifts with them, rises
above the roof line, rises above the silo,
rise and
rise and
rise till we are
all
out of sight

white field broken by
headstones, iced moss, your footprints
cemetery snow

whispered bird tracks
beneath the redbud tree
Look up
picture blossoming May and
wonder–did the birds look up too?

In the ditches, melted snow
glistens the stones
echo of summer rain
when this becomes a sunlit brook.

Midwinter is only
bleak when seen from
indoors. Go outside
Feel the world against your skin

A note
to that bitten-off place of lack in your soul,
struggles stitched in place to cover the hole.
Bow to the struggles
Bow to the lack
Each deserves its time in this world
When you Banish what you feel,
It returns.
Instead, take its hand (that small, cold hand)
outside the doors, where there is wind
where there is weather to be felt.
Encourage that sadness, that worry, those fears
to look up
into the deep blue of twilight or
dawn. Point out how the street lamp
glows brighter against the dark
how the strings of lights make
the neighborhood shine.
Don’t look away, or list all you lack.
Love the light
and acknowledge
the darkness
Bow to how they illuminate
Each other.

For the coming year, resolve
your self to attend the moments.
Give the sweet and still seconds your focus
rather than tending the buzzing bees of Planning.
But do not swat away those busy,
well-intentioned bees.
Instead, offer a kind suggestion.
Place a new thought into their rushing minds, their
quivering planning bodies so ready
to make honey, to store honey, to prepare
to make a plan for more honey to be prepared…
Stop. Breathe. Suggest gently
that perhaps along with the carried pollen of plans
each bee might settle for a moment
one quiet moment
burrowed head first
into the center of the blossom
of now.

Written in response to a prompt from The Sunday Whirl

On the other side
of the Door of Light
is where we heave ourselves
chattering, screeching, beseeching
always wanting
to come back from the dead.
Patience. There are patterns to follow
secret files on how to stitch
anatomy’s net back together
and reload for another spin