Days of Vinegar and Weeds
Days are like weeds in that they grow long, then are easily cut short
But the dark of life isn’t the same from season to next.
Worn from destined travels, our hearts lean towards sorrow,
then bow back to rest.
Nature understands its place. Its place in everyone, is everything
Lilies don’t sit up and take notice on a sweltering eve
Burning leaves are soggy under the weight of frost.
The passage of our time is fraudulent;
fictious it starts and stops in abrupt formation.
This is day and this is night; nature chides us,
goading us on with displays that marvel a human mind.
We run to catch a sunset like a bus. It waits for us through memories of ones that came before;
not to be missed.
Nature accumulates ideas deep inside us. it stores them like winter food
we sip until spring
Don’t fear the passing of time
it is nothing more than now.
there is everything more in tomorrow. for the birds, trees and habitants.
not happenstance. but ordered
it arrives unfiltered, not rushed. thankfully it arrives. in time. for us. never tiring in our haste or
worry. it waits to be found and found out.
Today, light for darkness, tomorrow the same.
Flowers are Heirlooms to Us
Heirlooms set on stone for coffee table guests
There is more love in that than what sets a formal place.
Love both divides and multiples, it cannot be
removed any more than a ring of a wet cup can be ignored once
it settles into grain.
It is this day and every day upon us. This love
This light of deed. It will remain on us
Always as we breathe, as we steal away
thoughts of pain, revenge.
It lives, it thrives.
It is self and unselfish.
How do we know there is love? When our knees
won’t bend, or hearts beat the wrong way
into a stomach full and tired?
How do we know that God sets upon us to heal, when
all there is, feels more like what was.
Love is backwards and found
in the garbage, marked for donation.
It doesn’t mind the sweat of old.
It settles on it, and the clothes refresh and
dress themselves.
That is love.
A window dressing, for clothes.
Too great for tiny arms, too strong for lies.
It doesn’t hold us against us. It brings us into the fold.
It tells us how great our mistakes are.
It says we will be well when we are not.
It says we are older than our age, but still young enough to smile
It is love; it is love.
It is love.
It is the flower that fades from a groom who
can’t believe his luck
It is the moon that quips and falls into water
refreshed and clean
It is the tide that washes it back and forth and shows it will
not tire
It is the man who walks on pebbles of sand who carries
his son through the rain
Through his life, through the days
where his mother was lost to cells that are misshapen by pain
It is another who bears and sees all that was lost and left on the ballfield, the gym floor, in the hallways and battle fields, from the stands, voice hoarse, calling love.
It is love; it is love that grips and trudges past broken bones and syringes,
dirty with remorse; dripping holding the fruit of promise,
if only the whisper had been heard.
It is the call inside the larks, the fish, the cranes who soar, aching from their sides.
How easy it is to find
How hard to know to keep
Like sweeping dust with a broom
in the wind, from the porch
it settles, so close to where you found it.
If only to walk to that place
To know it and claim it for yourself. A home away from a home
not found in place of hate.
But, for our sake,
in Love.
Kailyne is a media maker by trade, including director/writer of two award-winning short films. The first, an art-house love story that addresses childhood abuse and the impact on intimacy. The second, an animated tale of a shopping cart that goes rogue and sets out on an adventure to change his fate and ends up changing the world around him.
She is currently adapting her latest short film into a children’s picture book, and while she believes in magic and miracles, she doesn’t think either happens when or how she wants them to. Kailyne believes that creation is the only original concept and everything else is a re-write. She hopes that her drafts make a difference.
To see the short film, The Go Cart: http://www.thegocartmovie.com/ On the home page, there is a button to “watch film”.