A Perfect Storm
Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.
As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.
In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.
©Carole Fults photo and poem
My Life and the Complaining Cow
Lying on my back on my yoga mat
looking for insights on the ceiling
the way astronomers look for stars against the sky
waiting for that one instant when all will become clear.
And when the big solution arrives
there’s no band of angels announcing the coming of the answer
no star in the east, no light in the tunnel, no trumpets or gonging bells, no voice in the darkness
but here come the geese, again, and the complaining cow across the road
here’s the kiss of the fog and whispers in the shadows
here are phone calls from friends and the adoring stares of dogs,
here is unlimited biscotti,
a kiss from my sweetheart
here is my life.