Tag Archives: Breath



I breathe you out
and breathe you in
as you restore my lack.
With your passing,
fine hairs on my arms
stand at attention,
as though reaching out
for the mere touch
of you.

You surround and enter me,
then beat a hasty retreat,
in and out like children
passing through
a kitchen door.

Needing something,
then needing to be gone,
 called in again
by request or need.

You fill and nourish me.
You lift my tresses
from my shoulders,
tangle my fringe,
blow the insignificant
from my life.
Deposit autumn leaves,
like sad reminders
of your passing.

For the dVerse Poets Pub prompt: The elements.


img_1305This really is the number of meds that are keeping me breathing right now.


Okay, readers, here’s the dope.
Though desolation might reach and grope,
put in my path those bars of soap,
in depressed times, provide the rope,
I choose instead to fight and cope.
I refuse to be a misanthrope.
I really have no cause to mope,
for as long as there is breath, there’s hope.

Background info that I couldn’t fit in without really stretching it to fit in my remaining rhyme words of “ope, lope, Pope and taupe,” is that last night I was taken by ambulance for a night’s stay in the emergency room of the local Green Cross. I started having asthma attacks in the afternoon and by evening I just couldn’t breathe even with the inhalers.  None of my friends were home so finally I called a close neighbor who luckily had a sister who is both an asthma victim and a nurse. She got me calmed down and breathing through the inhaler and they went back home to have dinner, saying they’d come back to stay with me afterwards.  I tried to call a few more friends, but again, none were home, and I had another attack.  Luckily, the phone rang and it was Chris seeing how I was.  I could just gasp “Help!”  They were there in two minutes, called an ambulance, and since they could not get me to breathe without the oxygen, they took me to the hospital for the night.  Twelve hours of oxygen later, plus visits by two doctors, an injection and 5 more bottles of medicine, I’m back home with an oxygen machine I bought, looking for a portable one that doesn’t cost $5,000—what they cost here in Mexico— or $3500—what the model I’d like costs in the states. Never have I been so thankful for the breath of life!

The prompt today is mope.