Sweetly Dreaming

Sleep- -a delicate flower
wins the night- -morning’s
light peers violet-blue,
skyline bursting.
Cold- -reality stings the senses.

My Bike.

Breaking the rising and falling
of your chest, your moving
stirs me- -a cold place
where you were.  Bitter
wind’s rush unsettles
branches scraping- -clawing.
Purring cat curls in,
your pillow warms again
assuring sleep once more.
Snow’s drifting waves
send me spinning- –
inward dreaming.

Columbine.

Mountain flowers caress
Earth in fancy dress- -sighs.
Sleep- -blessed sleep,
I’m falling into the
warm pool of you
– -arms wide and waiting.
Harmony- –
                 birdsong calling.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.
Photographs Family Photos.  Copyright 2010, by
Suzie Ashby. 

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Thunder is Lonelier

 

It is not the rain
of summers past
that wash away long nights
but the memories

The dreams condensed
inside each crystal drop
and the realization- –
the thunder is even lonelier

that floods the soul
with waves of comfort
and shortens the night
with a song- -softly.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.

Daughter of The Mountain

She is held by the wind
and the smile from a brown eyed doe
in the arms of her father- –
                                               the mountain.

His arms of pine needle,
Spanish moss fingers
and granite grip
have embraced her through time- –
through uplift and erosion,
erthquakes, blizzards and floods.
The sixties were good years for those.

Together they have watched
storms,
the sunsets and rises
that molded the Front Range.
They know what moves mountains,
but so far
have not seen one who can.

She is- -just a mountain,
a likeness of her father,
a mass of Earth,
a watcher and a wilderness,
immovable- –
yet constantly moving.
She is a child of the Earth,
her father’s child- –
daughter of the mountain.

Dad, I love you.  I’ve missed you for nearly
thirty years now.  Happy Father’s Day.

Copyright 2010, by Suzie Ashby.