Tag Archives: #Whatdoyousee

“Spreading Wings” for What Do You See> Aug 4, 2025

 

Spreading Wings

Animals’ phases allow them to dare
to turn into something more special and rare.
Tadpoles swim landwards, developing legs.
Pupae to butterflies, chickens from eggs.

Rain falls and water runs west to the sea.
We try to go with it, my sister and me.
With leaves for our sails and vine pods for our ships,
what we wish for remains behind eyelids and lips.

The gutters are swollen and culverts are full.
We harness our boats, and we push and we pull.
But still they escape––rush away on their own.
I envy their future–unfettered, unknown.

In faraway places, I thought I’d be free
to discover new parts I was fated to be;
so I went after life like a kid at a fair,
from her carousel horse, reaching out through the air.

I could not resist the chance of surprise––
to  grab the brass ring and capture the prize.
And yes, I did travel and how I did roam.
Life got faster the farther I wandered from home.

Now I’ve been through the phases from child to wife.
I’ve traveled and struggled and had a free life.
I’ve been on large vessels for months at a time,
and on most of my travels, I’ve had a good time.

If I’d known that the slow times were not going to last,
I would not have hoped for my time to go fast.
For now when the ending comes faster and faster,
The pace of my life is just courting disaster.

Though other seas beckon, my boat is well tethered.
My new dreams are tamer, my old dreams well weathered.
Now that I can go anywhere, do many things,
I wish for more time just to fold up my wings.

 

for Sadje’s What Do You See? prompt., Image by Hirzul Maulana. poem by Judy.

Fog

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Fog

What draws me to the cabin that beckons through the wood?
I’d take the rail-straight pathway if I only could,
but I have no legs to walk that sidewalk in.
Nor can I see the night around it, black as deepest sin.
I only feel that darkness, for I have no eyes.
I cannot see the pine woods or things in any guise.
I cannot smell the fog that lifts from forest floor.
I cannot see the shaft of light that leads me to its door.
I cannot feel the cushion of bracken or of pine,
for all of these sensations are no longer mine.
The scene they build in memory may not be as it seems,
for what I am remembering may be the stuff of dreams.

 

For What Do You See #31 prompt