The vast space of emptiness will never feel right Communication sustains but the heart feels short-lived relief no room for logic the heart carries a stubborn streak
Moments missed Hours missed Days missed fleeting of time The miles from here to there, like a ball of yarn unraveling over hills, through valleys getting snagged on jagged edges along the way
In a daze, I’m slowly slipping down a rabbit hole about to surrender the very best of my soul where darkness cloaks itself around me Air, no longer reality
Sadness befalls the world outside as sky-falling tears slam the earth I’m tumbling with them in a frenzy The first teardrop rolls down my face leaving a chill in its wake before disappearing beneath my jaw My back slides down the wall I’m drenched in sobs
Then reason meets my reflection I challenge my emotions because pain trails closely behind – I’m inviting stress, and I can’t handle one more ache Does this make me selfish?
Humans are complicated Emotions are complicated
Some days, the golden sphere dazzles me into dancing Some days, the shadowy sky lures me into that daze I can feel my heart breaking I can feel each piece tear away I won’t have strength to sweep up the mess…
but this love is stronger than I ever thought I could feel a love in my heart that will need to be the glue… it is what it is ‘till it isn’t anymore maybe someday… until then, the vast space and I will need to reach a truce.
I am thrilled to share another glowing review for my book, Ever So Gently, from Kaye Lynne Booth at writingtoberead.com. But first, here’s a little bit about Kaye:
She has been writing content on Writing to be Read since 2010, including book reviews, author interviews and reflections on writing. Her first novel, Delilah, was published by Dusty Saddles Publishing in 2016. (Recently re-released as a part of her Women in the West Adventure Series.)
To learn more about Kaye and to read her entire blog post, please click on the link below that follows her wonderful review:
Kaye’s Review:
For me, poetry is best enjoyed in print, where I can hold the book in my hands and leaf through the pages, taking in each poem in small doses, and revisting those poems which have sparked further thought in my mind. So, I was tickled to receive a print copy of Ever So Gently: A Collection of Poetry from author Lauren Scott. In this delightful collection, we hear the author’s confident approach to life, feel her inner appreciation of the natural world around her, and gain insight into value of connection with the people she loves and cares about.
Poetry is so personal, offering a window into the author’s soul, and EverSoGently does this beautifully. Many of the poems contained within resonated with me on a personal level. As a both nature and animal lover, the vivid images of the cautiously flitting hummingbird, a garden renewed, and beloved pets helped me to feel the moments described within each, as if witnessing or experiencing them.
Messages from the Sea
listen intently inhale, exhale, feel the calm your soul will thank you
secrets ride the waves ebbing, flowing in turquoise we are not privy
whispers in the surf ambiguous to discern relish in their song
_________________________
For Lauren Scott, nature is soothing, healing. I can relate with that as nature is also where I go for solace.
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 behind the shadows. But when I take that soft 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.
_____________________________
But my very favorites were the poems in which she expressed her love of the written word, a love that I share, so can relate well with.
Books
Stories, poetry Compelling, transporting, entertaining Turning pages is exciting Paperbacks
______________________________
But my true favorite is the poem that shares the title the book is so aptly named for. In it I see clearly the author’s positive, grounded attitude toward life. A wonderful outlook, to be sure.
Ever So Gently
Sometimes we get lost in our thoughts… losing focus of the stars lighting up the night sky. We tumble too deeply into the frontal lobe, allowing negative thoughts to awaken, to throw a tantrum.
Remember, the breeze carries burdens down rivers and across oceans, majestic trees sway with joy, sheltering from shadows, and the light shines even if only a slight glimmer slips through.
Its glow will grow ever so gently into a bright beacon of hope rising with the golden sun bringing clarity to our vision.
____________________________
With her uplifting poetic verse Lauren Scott basks in the earth’s beauty, cherishes loved ones, ponders life’s mysteries. Highly recommended. I give Ever So Gently five quills.
Thanks again to Kaye for this beautiful review! I am delighted that she enjoyed my poetry collection because that is the ultimate wish…for the reader to find poems that resonate “as if witnessing or experiencing them” – Kaye’s words. My heart is full! And thanks to you who chose to visit my corner of blogville in the midst of your busy day. ❤️
I hope you’re doing well. Our family has been spending as much time as possible with my father-in-law who is nearing the end of his life. He is on hospice, living in a lovely facility with the best care. It has been difficult to witness his body failing, but the silver lining is that spending more time with him has been a gift – these moments have given us room to prepare for the inevitable. When he is lucid on occasion, the gift is even greater.
Writing poetry during my break has been soothing. This surreal experience has been emotional for all of us, but if it inspires me to write, my husband feels it’s a beautiful thing. I was motivated to try a Haibun for the first time after reading D.L. Finn’s gorgeous poetry book, Deep in the Forest Where Poetry Blooms. I loved her collection and will share a review and a couple others in the next few weeks.
This piece may not qualify as a Haibun, but it’s a beginning…
The Last Days
The outdoor temperature feels like a summer day in August though ghosts and goblins lurk around the bend. The orange ball shines brilliantly lighting up the clear blue sky. But inside his room, death awaits in the corners – a dreary atmosphere until we turn on lights to uplift our spirits. Classical music drifts out the windows, swirling around the trees and gardens still bursting with reds and oranges. Photos of family and friends, and ball caps from favorite sports teams embellish the bare white walls.
He lies in bed each day, body frail. A vision we hope will fade over time. A vision contrasting to the man who hiked mountains. The small clock ticking on the bedside table and the calendar hanging on the wall irrelevant. His words, an untranslatable language. His appetite, diminished, but it’s time for breakfast, so we pull the lids from each tub. He slightly opens his mouth like a mama bird feeds her chick, and we gently hold the spoon so he can take in tiny bites of pureed eggs and oatmeal. The tubs still look full, but so is his stomach. Sleep calls him. His chest slowly moves up and down with soft breaths. We stretch out this moment, then we lay a kiss on his forehead, tell him that we love him and that we’ll see him later. We steal one more glance at Dad, then we slowly walk out the door with tears struggling for freedom.
a routine until he slowly draws his last breath preparing our hearts
**A Haibun is a combination of prose and haiku, and usually includes autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story, or travel journal.
Christmas time is not only a season of Love, Giving, and Hope, it is a season of remembering…our minds return to the days when loved ones who have passed celebrated with us. And when I came across this old photo of our children from 1997, I couldn’t help the feeling of warm and fuzzy in my heart.
A season of noble fir fragrance, festive decorationsthat bring joy…
and cozy evenings with a flickering fire or dancing candlelight.
A season of traditional baking while adding a new sinfully, delicious recipe…
Toffee Bars:
1 c. salted butter, 1/2 c. sugar, 2 c. flour, 1/2 c. chopped pecans or walnuts (optional), 1/2 c. toffee chips
Directions: soften butter and mix with sugar and flour. Add toffee chips and nuts. Pat into a 9×13 ungreased pan. Be sure edges are straight. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes. While hot, use a pastry brush to spread the glaze on: 1 c. powdered sugar, 3 T. milk, 1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
Let cool and cut into squares. Enjoy!
And the king of the house (Copper) will not be forgotten, sporting his new holiday hoodie to keep warm in his older years, while he wonders what Santa will bring him this year…
many merry shapes frosted and sprinkled with love from my heart to yours
❤️ ❤️ ❤️
This is my last post for the year, and I’ll be on Christmas break as of tomorrow. So I wish you all a holiday season filled with lots of love and sweetness! Thank you for your wonderful visits to read my thoughts in verse and prose. See you in the New Year! 🎄🎉🎉🎉🎄
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…
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! 🧡🍁🍂
Matt and I pull into the parking stall of our camp sight, and our first task is to unload the car and dump our gear onto the picnic table. A slight breeze floats through the pine trees cooling us from the sun’s burning touch and the blue lake water invites us in for a swim. The invitation is tempting, but first the labor of setting up camp. I dig into the big green tub looking for kitchen stuff and my breath catches when my eyes focus on the old set of silverware. When I was a little girl, we had a cabin in Big Bear, California, which is where Mom used the silverware. After both of my parents had passed, the set came to me. It’s black and silver, service for six, a little faded, but I couldn’t believe how sturdy it was to have lasted over fifty years. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought, so I added it to our camping paraphernalia.
As Matt and I enjoy the stir fry dinner he prepares on the first night, the old silverware evokes fond memories. An image of our cabin on the corner lot enfolded by sugar pines comes to mind. I remind Matt of the time when our little brave dog, Duffy, climbed up the snow bank, standing on the roof as if to say, “I am King!” That cozy mountain retreat also held many kitchen-table conversations full of laughter. Although Matt never had the chance to see the cabin, he remembers Mom’s delicious cooking. We especially savored her lasagna that was contest-winner-worthy. I recall the aroma swirling around, enticing Dad, my sisters, and me as we were eager to capture it and dig into the mouth-watering dish.I line up evenly in my mind each nuance of those childhood memories with my parents – days of playing badminton under a cloudless sky and a blazing sun, and then tobogganing when the ground was blanketed in snow and the temperature was bitter cold.
I am wrapped in a sentimental blanket on this trip, thinking of Mom and Dad, wishing I could feel their hugs, hear their laughter, and listen to their advice one more time. But would one more time still be enough? I don’t wallow in sadness; instead, I revel in the good times letting the memories advance like pictures on a camera roll. Before Matt and I realize, the campfires, swimming, hiking, and reminiscing have catapulted time into lightning speed. Our trip has ended and in the blink of an eye, we’re home doing clean-up. It dawns on me that I don’t want this set stashed away again, hidden beneath pots and pans and forgotten until the next trip. These forks, knives, and spoons have their own stories to tell. I combine them with our sets and I’m not bothered that they don’t match our decor. Years ago, the difference would’ve mattered. Now, life is a far cry from when mom and dad were still with us, so as we sit at our table using this shiny silverware, the family tales continue. We smile, we laugh, and now and then, tears that we thought had dried up, slowlyfind their way down our cheeks again.
Maybe I didn’t see the true value when this set was given to me. Perhaps I was blinded by tears, existing in my world of grief where a dark cloud was parked above my head. It could be that I hadn’t processed the finality of their death. I would see them again, wouldn’t I? The phone will ring and I’ll listen to Mom’s, “I just wanted to hear your voice.” Or, they’ll be over for lunch next week. When enough time had passed, reality sank in: I acknowledged their passing for what it was and accepted the truth. So, the timing and how I stumbled upon this treasure was relevant. My grieving had ended, widening the gap for remembering all the good things that keep us moving forward when we lose a loved one. Even in this set’s simplicity, its silver clean lines prove to be a nostalgic gem never to be buried again.
The painting of our cabin was done by a friend in Big Bear and my sister has it in her house – a treasure to keep forever.
Baydreamer Writes ~ Lauren Scott, Author 