The End-All

Happy New Year! Wishing you all a healthy and joyful 2023
filled with an abundance of creativity, and I hope you enjoy
my first poetic offering for the new year…

The End-All

This poem isn’t meant to signify the end-all.
It really shouldn’t, nor does it intend
to lug around such a label…too much liability.

Instead, it dreams of opening like soft petals
of a springtime bloom reveling in the first kiss of sunshine.

It wishes to open like the door of a little quaint cottage
adorned in pastel blues and delicate yellows,
welcoming you inside

as if to offer a cup of tea and a plate of shortbread
so you might feel relaxed and rejuvenated,
but most of all, so you would feel accepted.

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.

❤️


Darker than the Deepest Sea

As this year nears the end, I thought sharing this poem again (though slightly revised) would be timely as we slowly glide into a new beginning…

I view life like a package wrapped in celebratory paper.
The matching ribbons fascinate in their delicate,
entwined camaraderie, so fingers gently unravel,
heartbeat increases from excitement of what will
be found. We lift the lid, peek inside,
our inner child moves to the forefront of our minds.

But we must remember that unlike recyclable paper,
the gift of life cannot be tossed back into the universe.
There is no spare awaiting on the sidelines,
and we should be mindful that the contents require
tenderness with a set of instructions solely
for the recipient, each one of us individually,
as visible as a red rose in a garden of white daisies…

because we are beautifully unique.

Then once we have absorbed the guidelines,
following them with gratitude and tenacity,
the purpose of our gift will reveal itself
as naturally as moonlight on a night
darker than the deepest sea.

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.
I’ve used this rose before from our garden, but roses seem
to signify many things, and gratitude is one meaning for
this light pink shade.

A Detour

It doesn’t matter the position of sun or moon
or where my feet have landed…
whispers find me,
their tasks needing my attention
at that very moment.

Do whispers wiggle into your mind too
like an annoying song repeating on a loop?

I question if this busyness is urgent enough
to prevent us from breathing in

the fragrance of flowers or admiring
the pageantry of wildlife outside our windows…

Surely our minds,
piled high with clutter,

deserve a detour
for some sweet refuge

now and then…

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.

The Hummingbird’s Quest

We hold our breath, sitting as still
as a freeway during morning commute.
Its wings flutter at a possible
eighty times per second, so we’ve read.

It closes the distance between us,
and we know it eyes the dangling
rosy petals. But below those blossoms
lies the sleeping dog. He wouldn’t be
the least bit interested in the winged
creature, but the winged creature
doesn’t know this to be true.

And so, we watch our tiny friend
flit to within a few feet of the blooms,
then disappointment lands in our thoughts
as it retreats to the maple,
camouflaged to the naked eye.

If only it could be brave.
If only it knew there was no threat below
from the sleeping beast. In fact, the beast
quietly snores, and we are confident
he is dreaming of squirrels. 

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.

A Blanket of Gold

I look across the backyard with a heavy sigh,
just a few weeks ago, the broom had done its
job, the garden gloves lie in the shed, caked
with flakes of dirt, exhausted from pulling
weeds that had the nerve to sprout abundantly,
as though they are admired as much as
the glorious lavender hydrangeas.

Now, crunchy yellow leaves inundate the grass,
as if Mother Nature gently laid down
a blanket of gold. The wardrobe changes of the
leaves, pirouetting to the ground, lead to the season
when Gratitude is placed on a pedestal,
paying homage more than any given day,
which leads us to the turkey brining
in a citrusy concoction. The carving knife
and gravy ladle eager to present their annual
performance. The formal dinnerware excited
to display its shiny patina. The gathering.

And on this special day, the sky and sun
will collaborate to create a bright blue backdrop,
no clouds invited to this celebration,
not even a breath of wind will drift through,
or one tiny raindrop will fall on this event,
just a high temperature cool enough
to welcome a sweater,
the kind of weather that would delight them both.

He would ask for a beverage before sitting down,
and then even after sinking into the soft sofa,
his hand would caress the glass for minutes.
He would pause before taking a sip.

Because before partaking in the festivities,
he, who lived through the second world war,
would slowly absorb
the noise,
the laughter,
the chaos,
the loved ones…

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.

Whether or not you celebrate Thanksgiving, I wish you the feeling
of Gratitude in your hearts that will last a lifetime.

Sending wishes for a blessed Thanksgiving! 🧡🍁🍂

Beneath the Big, Golden Sun

He was their hero when they were young,

teaching of nature beneath the big golden sun.

They tried on their packs before feet hit the trail.

He’d say, “Be prepared or else you could fail.”

The trio trekked down paths and up inclines, too,

pausing along the way to admire a flower or two.

After arriving in camp, they helped pitch the tent,

stakes in the ground, windows unzipped to vent.

As an Arborist, he educated them about trees

under the blue sky beside the buzzing honeybees.

He pointed out poison oak, a beautiful, green leaf,

“But if you touch, you’ll need itching relief!”

They explored the ground seeking burrowing bugs.

He expressed praise with words and loving hugs.

When the sun faded at the end of a day,

they roasted marshmallows, found dominoes to play.

His first goal was fun in nature, then came self-reliance.

Their minds were like sponges, soaking up the science.

Now they reminisce for the best teacher he was

and recall the bonding with the deepest of love.

Now he’s proud of them, adulting and doing it well,

honored with the memories, the special stories to tell.

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.

Bread and Butter

My exhausted mind tires of it seeping in like smoke blocked from a flue too stubborn to open, steadily flowing into a room’s warmth, causing a cloud of gray, unbreathable. A preconceived notion not so massive that the stars would struggle to find room for hanging in the sky. But one with a heart pumping faster than ordinary that could possibly trigger a hint of hullabaloo. Whatever placement of the language, its implication doesn’t waver.

Thus, as I ponder this conundrum, I imagine that perhaps this notion is cloaked in the familiar wardrobe of speculation, hovering in the space between the lines just as F-A-C-E rests on the treble clef. Not a notion I care to keep company with, even in a brightly painted parlor of pastel yellows, sipping tea and indulging in an assortment of delicious pastries. Most likely, the safest conclusion would be to let it lie, tamp it down, express who is in control…
assuming the situation will faithfully eventuate to be as simple as bread and butter.

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.
Image: Pixabay

Chilling Embrace

I have been embraced
by the chilling presence
of loneliness.

I have wondered
where the niche
designed for me
exists in this world
in which my breaths
originate.

I have waited
for the glow
to emerge
from behind
the shadows.

But when I take
that wise step
into the splendor
of nature,

listen to the trees
whisper their sagacity,
feel the flowing rivers
move my pain,
creating vast distance
between it and me,

I have been revived
by the compassion
that nature offers
so unselfishly.

© Lauren Scott, baydreamerwrites.com – All rights reserved.
Photo: Yours truly.