Thursday, December 31, 2015

Ad infinitum

Unlike other deaths,
years do not die from sickness
or murder,
their time just comes—
perhaps a little weary
from a twelvemonth of toil
but neither sad nor glad to go;
'Tis been a pleasure to be of service,
the faithful companion old year says
with a bow as he parts
And seamlessly the new is born
with experience somehow already in hand
to begin the first January morn.

—Terri Guillemets

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Chilly bedtime thoughts

Winter is the slow-down
Winter is the search for self
Winter gives the silence you need to listen
Winter goes gray so you can see your own colors...

—Terri Guillemets

Monday, December 28, 2015

And I don't think it's just the winter talking

I've found a comfortable spot in life,
And I want to stay here.
Hopefully that doesn't hasten my demise.

—Terri Guillemets

Saturday, December 26, 2015

On the wings & wages of winter

Poetry blazons sexy words
with lusty, charming rhymes—
Prose is a sensible lover
who's always done at the stop.

—Terri Guillemets

3pm sunbeams, palms, winter wind

Some days my soul is windy,
blowing the dying leaves
off my aging bones.
My heart aches,
but it's winter pains —
nothing a little spring won't cure.
Sometimes a dandelion blows my way
from a neighboring soul
and makes me wonder —
what of mine drifts through life
to strangers or kin
going through their own
inclement weather?
If the clouds blow away
and the skies become blue again
and the sun gets a little too harsh
and my hair instead turns gray,
would I yearn for another storm?
And should I be thankful for clothes
to protect my naked body
or has too much protection
prevented me from the full potential
of my skittish and unclothed mind?

—Terri Guillemets