Day 4 from Linda M Crate

our magical selves
shady picnics
beneath the wizened
and wise old maples and oaks,

a blanket of red and white
checked squares laid
out among the blades of grass;
little finger foods perfectly portioned
and preserved to keep the bugs
outโ€”

we sit and tell stories
of old and new,
recalibrating the star dust
of our souls;

as we sing a song of our ownโ€”

no threat of work, chores,
or reality to come crashing in;
just us and these blue skies
full of puffy white clouds cheering us
on to be our magical selves.
-linda m. crate

Three days from Linda M. Crate

we were blessed to have three wonderful submissions from Linda.


poet like me
faeries dance
on the edge of
magic,

and i’ve seen them
dancing in the woods

on the caps of
red capped mushrooms
with their little white
polka dots;

and i’ve seen them dancing
in cherry blossom flowers
as the wind has swayed their
branchesโ€”

if they hide from you
perhaps you’re not a poet
like me.
-linda m. crate


dance in the sky
the sound of the soul
is a beautiful, winding thing
full of magic and murmurs;

there’s joy and laughter,
hope and dreams,
there’s darkness and nightmares,
pain and misery;
but it’s all sewn together in
a lovely song of
star dustโ€”

maybe there was something in
the sunlight of your soul that sang to the
moonlight of mine,

just wanted to dance with you
in the same sky;

the one we call loveโ€”

it’s the greatest of magics,
we’ll ever know;
and you woke in me the
dreaming and magic in me when
i thought i was deadโ€”

taught me there was beauty of my scars,
it only makes sense that you’re still
dancing in so many of my soul hymns.
-linda m. crate


remember the moon
rosefinch,
the forest’s heart
knows your name;
as she knows
mineโ€”

i wonder if our
names still
fly together
somewhereโ€”

perhaps that’s arrogant
of me to
assume,
but it’s really just
wishful thinking;

i wish we could pick up
where we left off

yet i know that’s wishful thinkingโ€”

perhaps optimism that
borders on the line
of foolishness,

but i remember that peach champagne;
and my hair spilling out of your
little pink car as we fell into the universe
without a car at allโ€”

if you walk into the forest and see
a raven,
just know that’s me;
singing my strange song in the hopes
you remember the moon.
-linda m. crate


Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑