kissing inside out
delicious exploration
synchronized heartbeats
shiver in delight, tumbling
onto a bed of romance
tiled floors, walls, windows
do not complete the layout
he is my decor
Lauren Scott ©
Photo: Good Housekeeping
Pillows
Category: Poetry
Just a Raindrop
Do you ever wonder
who else is out there?
Living, breathing, existing.
Who’s to assume
we’re alone here
on our planet with stars
millions of miles away
shimmering in the night?
Maybe some being
ponders the same question,
wondering if it is simply
a tiny atom or molecule
floating in the larger picture.
Maybe we’re just a raindrop
in someone else’s universe.
Lauren Scott ©
Photo: Pixabay
We Reflect to a Deeper Layer
We are graced with their presence, beauty colors
our universe like an endless ceiling of bright blue sky.
Then one morning we wake with heavy hearts,
realizing they have gone, as though sneaking out
in the middle of the night without a word, their
existence seemingly nonexistent. Iron-gray clouds
move through that lovely cloudless sky like a brush
stroke of lingering gloom. We suspect the sun has
an attitude, refusing to rise. And each new day
magnifies the question: Did words accidentally
slip from our tongue landing like poison? Then we
reflect to a deeper layer, flipping a switch because
maybe it’s not us. Maybe it’s them. A surmising…
to soothe the bruises on our hearts.
Lauren Scott ©
Tender Reminiscence
Remember in our younger years
how you’d touch your lips to mine
while standing on the step
when we cold-shouldered time?
No letting-go desire of the
embrace that held us near
No care in the world was matched
in that moment that we shared
Who knew those doorstep kisses
would carry us this distance?
(floating in a state-of-mind
of tender reminiscence)
Lauren Scott (c) ❤️
Do you have memories
of doorstep kisses?
Shifting of Seasons
I’ll be off grid next week, adventuring with hubby and backpack in the wilderness. So, have a great week ahead and I leave you with this bright beauty and the moods of seasons…
Autumn admired the brilliant blue sky
Winter wiggled out of my sneakers
Spring tapped me on the shoulder
Summer’s hello, sweet as apple pie!
Lauren Scott (c) ❤️
The Wisdom of Signs
Yesterday, I met a friend for breakfast, and then we took a walk through downtown and the neighborhood. We both were struck by the beauty and uniqueness of this sign that is not uncommon to any of us. So, below are thoughts that came to mind in the form of haiku:
when children are near
absorb their laughter, the joy
flowing into you
snails teach with their wise
leisure movements, taking in
beautiful backdrops
slow down your travels
do not let decades escape
catalogue moments
pause in your footsteps
regard life’s celebrations
breathe in their fragrance
Lauren Scott (c) ❤️
A Plea
I remember our conversation, effort to
calm emotions, phone glued to ear like
a natural extension. Her voice, exhausted…
“When will this be over?” She asked Dad
days later, more like a plea. He could be
gentle or travel the path of honesty. I don’t
know the words he pulled from his language
of a sixty-seven-year love…how he tiptoed
through the reply, though tenderly, I imagine,
since his heart was shattering into millions
of minute fragments. Her time was close.
Our awareness vigilant. Each day, another
breath held until the hands of time would
pause. Then as quickly as the sun fades
behind rolling hills, raindrops splash upon us.
She had ascended. Moments of memories
to follow. But not one day passes without
celebrating her life. Not one day slips by
without her knowing how much she is
loved and missed.
Lauren Scott (c)
Mom would be 101 today,
and since she loved her roses,
we dedicate this beauty for her. ❤️
The Mess
During the visit,
there’s something about
the clothes strewn on the floor
soon to be dumped in the washer,
wallet lying on the dresser,
cell plugged in,
bed comforter in shambles
because the messiness
means he’s home.
Now with air miles accumulated
back in the familiar time zone,
his room shines, neatness
grating on my nerves,
silence like receiving
the cold shoulder.
My hand pulls back the comforter,
tousling, creating wrinkles and lumps
in the navy fabric as though rumpled
from a restful night’s sleep,
then I pull some old shirts from the
closet, tossing them on the floor
just so I can pretend the good-byes
hadn’t found freedom.
Lauren Scott (c)
