Nest ~ April Poetry

Nest

A tiny nest holding firmly to the branch,
so perfectly formed
with what she could find,
placed high enough to be safe,
just the right size for her offspring…
Guided by her inner compass, some will say,
knowing just how and what to do.
Could it be 
that the Creator gave this gift
to her favorite creatures
who sing of her day in and day out,
these sweet messengers
who fly on their own
between heaven and earth?
If birds are guided and gifted,
as my heart tells me they are,
then 
why would I ever doubt
that divine presence 
within me,
within you,
within us all.
— Deborah L. Tisch, April 18, 2014

Sweet Gentle Rain ~ April Poetry

rain at the pond
Gentle rain
that cleanses and refreshes
and washes away all that dirt,
catches the light in her
precious rain drop jewels,
spring time rain
with the scent of dampness
and fresh earth
bursting with new life,
sweet gentle rain,
flood my heart and soul,
and take away the dust of the day.
Bring the freshness that 
I thirst for, 
the sweet sounds 
of your gentleness.
Deborah L. Tisch, April 17, 2014

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April Poetry ~ from The Cat

because i’m your cat
i shall sit here
with my pretty little white paws
my tail delicately curved
and my full belly expanding
and stare at you 
until
you give in
and if that does not work
i will chase follow you
throughout the house
and meow at you
in my cutest voice
until you see
that i want you
to pay attention only to me
while you pet me
scratch under my chin
and make all those
loving silly sounds
and, of course,
feed me
in return
i will purr my loudest
making you think
that you are the cause of it all
you humans
take a while to catch on
sometimes
but i am patient
and will continue 
this same routine
so i can get 
what i want
which is
your total
undivided
loving
devoted
attention
— Yeller The Cat, April 16, 2014
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Even the cat who owns me likes poetry. Who knew?

Conversations ~ April Poetry

Conversations
There in the road
a spiral of wind and
leaves from the fall,
blown by strong wind
spiraling upward,
the delicate touch of these brown
leaves on the pavement
like fingers tapping on glass…
The thoughts of trees,
the hands that fanned the wind
and caught the rain…
old, brittle, and dried,
now they lay on the 
damp, spring earth.
Window blowing strong and free
lifts them upward and they
spiral into my path,
churning, spinning, flying free,
picked up and moved to a new place.
We sat at the table,
friends among friends,
and Spirit entered the room
like a strong breeze
lifting our words 
into 
the spiral.
Words shared.
Tears and laughter.
All making the breeze,
the wind of Spirit,
lifting our old, dry,
brittle thoughts,
letting them spiral 
into a new place.
 Deborah L. Tisch, April 2014