Poetry

Knocking Down Dust

10/26/2019

No amount of wiping
or washing
or knocking down dust~

No amount of tossing
or saving
or putting away~

No amount of washing
or folding
or tucking inside~
can ever
unspill
the
milk.

3.08.2014

I'd spent the day cleaning my son's room - doing more than intended, yet it still seemed not enough. No longer a child, he was quite able to clean his own room, but I told myself it was a gift. As my body protested, I searched for satisfaction, trying to create order out of chaos, trying to reclaim the past - trying to retake what was taken - trying rebuild what Lyme Disease broke.

But, the past is carved in stone.

I think of my boy, shaking it off like dust on the dresser, and smile.

-------

Written on March 3, 2014 from a prompt on Photo Play Monday at Tweetspeak... Ode to the Home.

The Heart Holds On

10/26/2019

Memories fade
as time rolls by.
Minutes to days to years,
how they fly.

Slipping through fingers
like sand on the shore.
Hands feeling empty
once more.

But, the heart holds on
forever, it seems,
to a strong sacred bond
that we visit in dreams.

The heart holds on
even as time flies by,
and it carries us home
in the blink of an eye.

Donna Z Falcone 11/24/2009

Journey

5/13/2019

Ribbons of paint
slide like speed
off the edge
~
strong hands
surrender
to clear canvas sky
~
she ascends
from the head
of a
p
i
n

Art and poem by Donna Falcone May 13 2019

Listening from the Kitchen

3/14/2019

Hung Jury

1/11/2019

Giving Breath

1/4/2019

Donna Z. Falcone c2019

Were You Warm Enough?

9/19/2018

Missing you
leaks out
of my eye.

Remember that day
You were getting ready to leave
and I painted poppies for your journey?
Could you hear me sing
Be Not Afraid
and did it help even
a little?
Were you
feeling safe?

Remember, next?
I sang about Sunshine
and how you were mine
from one thousand miles away.
Could you hear it
in that way ears
cannot?
Could you feel the painted sun rise,
Heating the cold white tile?
Were you
warm enough?

Do you remember?

Barefooted

8/1/2018

It is good
To have gone to the beach
When you were small
And, standing barefooted
At the edge of the sea,
Closed your eyes
Going all off kilter when foaming swirls
Washed away the earth beneath your feet -
So that some day
When the rug is pulled out
You’ll remember,
In a whisper or a rush,
That you survived this once before,
And you will,
By God,
Do it again.

This poem and alcohol ink art were done in response to a piece from Callie Fayen over at Tweetspeak Poetry: Writing Prompt: Beach Metaphors.

Blushing

4/21/2018

Do you think
the blue sky blushes
when kissed by
dewy blooms
new enough to bleed?

~ Donna Z. Falcone

April Showers

4/5/2018

April
will forever be
so very very
slipper

y