Time Flies

I’m working on normal blog stuff, but for now, here’s another poem.

Time Flies
by Tacy Gibbons

Two kestrels dance beneath a gray-clouded sky,
swooping, swerving and swirling around one another.
A display of timeless beauty,
over in seconds as one bird flies away.

They say the days are long, but the years are short.
Yet most days go by in a blur of have-tos, need-tos and must-get-dones.
The years fly by in the blink of an eye.

A snap of the fingers, and I am old
and no longer dancing like a pair of kestrels.
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The Cycle

Cycle
By Tacy Gibbons

up, down
all around
left, right
where’s the light
spin, spin
twist and turn
try your best not to burn
start to climb
fall back down
slip and slide
you might drown
pouring rain
cut the vein
here we go
all over again

Yes, More Poetry

Here are a couple more poems because that’s what I’ve been inspired to write lately.

Open Book
By Tacy Gibbons

I am
an open book.

When you see me sitting there
will you read from the beginning,
only to stop halfway through out of boredom?

Will you simply start where the page is open
without bothering to read what came before?

Will you flip through a few pages here,
a few pages there,
then toss it aside, uninterested, uncaring?

Will you close it up, look at the cover
and decide it’s not worth your time?

Or will you read each page,
beginning to end,
sometimes stopping to ponder . . . 
	
wonder . . . 
		
reflect . . . ?

Will you push past the difficult parts
and appreciate the story being told?

I am
an open book,
waiting for someone to read all my pages.
Anxiety
By Tacy Gibbons

Sometimes you sit next me,
constantly nudging me, reminding me you’re there.
When I get up to go you follow at my heels
like a new puppy afraid of getting left behind.

Sometimes I keep you at bay,
glance you in the distance, staring me down.
I avert my eyes and focus on the light, the here-and-now.
I’m happy without you.

But lately you’ve invaded my space, my life, my body.
You wriggle beneath my skin, turn my stomach
and tighten your hands around my throat.
You leave me immobile, paralyzed,
attached to rigid chains and a weight that never lightens.
Prisoner, I am, that can’t break free.

Sharing Some More Poetry

Sometimes life is hard. In those hard moments writing, especially poetry, helps me. It has always been therapy for me as well as a creative outlet. Words are my soul. Words make up so much of who I am. Even though the things I may have felt in moments, days or weeks of depression, despair, frustration, hopelessness, etc. fade the words still mean something to me. And maybe they will mean something to someone else as well. That is one of the reasons I love poetry so much. It can touch someone through time and distance in so many different ways. Here are a couple of poems that may not be how I feel now, but are how I felt at some point and may be how someone else has felt or is feeling.

Honeysuckle Poison
by Tacy Gibbons

Scent of honeysuckle.
Nostalgia hits.

I can see the fence where its white flowers grew.
Smells of heaven and childhood.
Picking blossoms and sucking the sweet nectar down.

Memories now poisoned with the knowledge of your lies,
the truth of what you really were
polluting the sweetness like poison.

Reaching through time and memories,
choking on the bitter reality,
the past now tainted by your toxicity.

Yet, I rise up through the fallen petals,
let the poison fade.
The wave of nostalgia washes over and retreats.

And I am left only with the sweet scent
of honeysuckle.

A Day In the Life
by Tacy Gibbons

I am the captured tiger,
beaten into submission,
thrown into a cage.
My master holds the only key.

Head hanging, shoulders hunched,
sad eyes look longingly for the dream I used to live.
Master asks me to lift my head,
swish my tail and purr.
He needs life to feel normal again.

I sit in patience, surrounded by bars,
lift my head, swish my tail and purr,
hoping to please, hoping for companionship.
Master walks by, smiles and pats my head . . . 
then wanders off,
leaving me to my cage and defeat.

I am the captured tiger,
beaten into submission,
thrown into a cage.
My master holds the only key.

And I wonder—
if he ever lets me out, will I want to go?
Or will the caged life be all I remember?
All I want to know?

Or maybe—will I run?
Run to freedom and never look back.