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Channel: Life – Marissa Colleen Mullins
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petal beds below

I cannot speakthe name of the flowers –large purple silk bowlsfilled to brim with fragrance. My daughter picks themfrom their home on the treebeside our house –brings them in to be held in crystal...

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This is How We Dance

  In circles that flow during dream-time, a step to the side. A whisper to the left. Two-step toward possibility. Your voice in my ear hushed tones of my name spoken a thousand miles away. There you...

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Husband

I live you breathe you love you, but seldom write poems about you. The sun shines without being written. The air moves, invisible life, never seen. You are the flow of these necessities through me. You...

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the excavated self

the excavated self ~from the Collection, Odes to Plath I admit there is an obscurity in your work that lends itself to my confusion. But – don’t bother yourself about it. I am not expertly aware of...

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Epitome Filial

When you are gone, there will be no one to fight, struggle, rebel against. Instead only the blank space where the wall of you once stood – the line drawn, marked, painted red – the fight a devouring...

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magnitude to microcosm

~for J We are talking miles apart on the phone, as if change never happened, as old friends do from time to time. A conversation about truth – (elusive fiend) and I can hear you wrapped in sadness for...

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Authenticity

Appalachian Mountains (Photo credit: BlueRidgeKitties) I can see the bright-white hair Of the child, bending, fingers reaching, Trembling down into grass blades To touch the little bug crawling along....

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Derivation

I grew up in a small town. Southern – reserved countryside where even the roses said grace. Each fragile part of life exposed in natural hardship of daily living. For years I would believe the old...

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Meditations on Mortality

Sweet William by Barbara Moignard   Springtimes have needed you. And there are stars expecting you to notice them. From out of the past, a wave rises to meet you the way the strains of a violin come...

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Life At A Given Moment

“… the meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person’s life...

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Divorce

We talk and there remains a tension, friction of what we once meant to each other. More in common now than then – We share two children, four grandchildren – a silver chain of being links us still –...

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you were always becoming poems

Oh, that sparkle of mischief and laughter and child that jumped out of your eyes and decked me, knocking the breath from me as I sat across the room! Continue reading →

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day of miracles 3/20/20

The sandy beach gave me heart tokens in stone and shell. The sea gulls paraded their young before me training flight as I gazed on the becoming. The ocean washed sand away to show me a giant shark...

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Sparrow

He came to land so gingerly and brave on the chair-back beside me (reading Rumi) — at a table near the fountain. Then, hopping down and around the edge of the table, a hand-length beside me as if he...

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the love that is Home

It is as if Somehow — Someone opened the gate and let me back in to the Garden of Eden — while the world still sees me and keeps calling, calling to come back out and play. I can’t find … Continue...

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You take my hand

You take my hand and we go out into the world. You are my dearest playmate, companion. Sometimes, the Mind says to me “Are you crazy?” “Who are you to speak of God this way?” But, I am learning to …...

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So, we agreed

I sit by the small pineapple fountain because I always say, I like this space — but the larger fountain, more often calls to me, and I sit there — writing. When God and I were discussing where to go …...

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all the jewels

It was his birthstone – and a color he often wore. But, all those years together it was a stone in my hand, a jagged crystal tower on my desk. When we ended — all the jewels fell to the … Continue...

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stretched thin with yearning

That desert sea of sand holds the roots in mystery as the reaching toward heaven begins — hot rolling hours change the day moving into hours of darkness and chill wind blows in, howling, from the ocean...

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from the shadow blooms

Her fear enters the door ahead of her. The fragile-silk side-step fear of trespass that tells you she knows too many dark hours — that she is a flower from the shadow blooms beneath branches blocking...

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