a lunchtime moment

at lunch
I try to make
my own
little bit
of space
head lost
in a book
amid the noise
and babble
the talking
and chatter
in this crowd
of people
(too many people)
but their voices
creep into
my quiet
and their
can’t be
time flows
sand falls
my hour is up
I gather
and step out
as the door
swings closed
behind me
I’m enveloped
in silence
soft and gentle
on my ears
a blanket of peace
laid over me
just birds and footsteps
and the sound of my breath

a blessing on the press of words

may the
calm white
of these
your soul

may the
your mind
and let
your wings

may there be
no pressure
to fill
this space,
just space
to fill
your heart
with light

and as
the mist of
envelops you

may the
healing words
pour forth
and drown

Calamine Lotion Potion

I have this need to write
like an itch that just won’t stop
I keep on scratching with my metaphorical pen
but the itch burns on
it’s a need, an addiction, a have-to
a desperate urge
and I’m willing to write nonsense
just to assuage it
a salve to my soul
calming my antsy spirit
like a soothing ointment
on a horrible rash
my need to write
is like chicken pox
the act of writing
like calamine lotion
slathered on
like calamine lotion
that’s been stored
in the fridge
a blessed relief
from the sensation
of ants nipping my skin
aaaaaah that’s better