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Ordinary Miracle

gratitude for the toothpaste
pleasure at my soft mattress
joy of the first sip of tea
delight as my cat stretches

to remember the miracle
of ordinary things
unhook the small mind
move

into the space
where
miracles are happening
each second

my body is breathing me
in, out, every moment
in, out
in

Sarah Caddick
Poetry Theme(s):

Currently Popular Poems:

White Hawthorns

The day speaks of white hawthorn Sundays Long washed out road trips, reluctant relatives waving you off on arrival. Rain from decades passed, a swishing of glimpses. Parents cramped and fretful. Passing through a littered accompaniment of faceless outlines. Stretched out warming children, car sick, scrunch up weathered newspapers. Pungent smells of nostalgia, almost Springs bouncing forward hours. Eager sweet wrappers lunge for half opened windows to adorn the floating blossom clouds of hawthorn bushes, March’s winds step in much like a bone-chilled but amiable hitch hiker. A querulous sibling rolls over, sickening, falls out in a screeching of tires. Tearfully rain-splattered. Another weekend pulled out and pegged up, redolent of adolescences quickly traversed. Mark Ereira-Guyer
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Lace-like Shadows

Dancing with lace-like shadows of forgotten worlds, the tortoiseshell creeps slowly, the last energies to lie upon the rough bark. With folded wings, Madame butterfly is no more til Spring. Charlotte
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Let Me Play

Children at play filled with innocence, Trees in the playground where they hide. Running, shouting no cares in the world, Waves of freedom flows higher than the tide. In that playground stands a child all alone, Fraught with sadness, with nobody to play. His dejection surges as his tears threaten, Just wishing a shrill of a whistle would end the day. Being so alone is a solitary game, Thoughts of “what have I done” The shrills and screams of play, Ending a game for those that won. Standing all alone playtime is long, Children running all unaware, He stands still alone, Envy and sadness, he stands just to stare. Sheridan
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Charcoal Smudges, Bury St. Edmunds

Sugar beet smoke Choking my town I cycle home past Greene King Smudged by the charcoal wind Mike
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Something is Stirring

Underneath parched brown leaves, curled, crumbled remnants of winter, a new stirring. Something in earth’s ancient time clock signals to tiny organisms. It is wake-up time. Something deep, irrepressible, mysterious is on the move. Sap begins to flow. The winter sun is still low in the sky but it has a little residual warmth. It warms the earth. Like human nerve endings messaging the brain, the warm earth sends its invisible, long-awaited signals to bulbs, tubers and roots buried under their mulch of winter leaf mould. Tiny shoots appear on desiccated roots; small tendrils, coiled foetus-like beneath the soil, start to unfurl, reaching for the light. From brown to darkened shades of red, from red to green, finally the world sheds its winter weeds, reaches for its habitual cloak of green. From the stillness of its deep slumber, something living, something new is stirring. From death to life, from darkness into light, a new creation is emerging from the depths as surely as year succeeds t...
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Stone Souls

Abbey stones Hold tales of the untold A rich tapestry of thoughts, Echoes and patterns and times ancient by. Of weathered landscapes Broken angel wings, Jumbled thoughts and crumbling terracotta Secrets lie beneath. Of drifting monks And whispering clouds Beneath us lies Hidden skulls The stone souls.   b y Art Branches recovery project group
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A Glimpse of Shadows

Why is There Sadness in my eyes You ask,  Noticing the hidden depths. After all I’ve been through,  That glimpse Into darkness,  Is all you will see. Anon
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Always with Us

The morning is cold, The sky is black, An emotion called grief, Is on your back. The storm is ferocious, Emotions peek and trough, The boat is disabled, By our indescribable loss. Gradually the storm, Will begin to ease, Giving breath to talk, Reflect and believe. But just round the corner, With just the breeze, The storm returns, You are on your knees. The sea is unpredictable, The sails carry us along, We begin to feel, Our loved one isn’t gone. With love and care, These storms will pass, The boat’s in order, The sails half mast. It’s a long journey, The boat begins to move with grace, It makes you feel relaxed, And puts a smile on your face, We can recall the memories, With all the love in our heart, They will always be with us, We will never be apart.   by Tonya  
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Ready to Spring

Like the gnarly springtime bulbs, dormant in the ground Your demons crouch under the skin, waiting to be found Waiting for their moment, to break through and be seen The pale face of snowdrops, in a vibrant sea of green Emmalene Taylor
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Fly me in Feathers

Weighted with weariness worn down by worry I search the skies with longing. Fashion me with feathers float me up high cushion me on your magic carpet and let me ride above clouds. The lark vanishes. Lightness of spirit, more a song than a bird. Clothe me in quills, speed me on soaring wings, lift me above the limits of my chronic fatigue. A seagull floats, gently drifting on air currents in effortless motion. Dress me in down, soft as snow-white geese, yearning for family that call to me like seabirds from across the ocean. Julia Duke
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