AGE ISN'T

 

I once thought you

old 

at 50

when dolls and knock-foot formed my repertoire

and thoughts dealt with minor things:

when sailing paper boats

in afternoon showers

brought me delight

and sipping kool-aid quenched

my thirst

 

I once thought you 

old when I at 9

climbed monkey bars, even hiked trees and  played tetherball

to the cheers of many

and held hands behind the bleachers,

even blushed with my first "love".

 

But time passed 

and I embraced the years that brought change.

Fluid joints creaked

and hairs acquiesced to gray.

Thoughts occasionally escaped 

the mind

searching

 

I once thought 

you old at fifty 

but

age, you whispered, isn't a mere number

but really a feeling;

a feeling, sometimes youthful, my dear

 

Age

is a feeling...

 

~ rharmon 2012

copyright

 LEGACY

 

what is one to become

but a poet

daughter

of the renowned

one

who embraces the legacy

letting it tumble

beautifully into verse

 

 

 

~rharmon 10/2010

copyright

 

 

LIGHT II

 

Floating airily,

the breeze

wafts gently

arms light as a feather

dreamily,

 

eyes closed

suspend worry

welcome freedom

savor its delicate

parfum on your tongue

Enjoy these moments--

 

Pure bliss!

 

Unbutton the restrictions

dream your desires

revel in the magic

 

Beauty abounds!

 

~rharmon 6/2008

copyright

HOMAGE TO LAKE PISO

 

How you flowed peacefully

alongside the brush

and burnt out palms

the paved road adjacent

hiccups

 

How I wish to place my feet

around your hips

my palms letting you drip

from its fingertips

 

Tranquil, you seem

my thoughts escaping to you

seeking solace

away from the unrest

the unmistakeable volatility

 

You who can squelch the fire

brewing

who can quench the thirst

 

My meeting you destined

our first encounter

my spirit relishes

this tranquil moment, away from the crowds

yes, away from the din

 

~rharmon 8/2010

copyright

 

 

TREE TALK

 

if I should fall

without sound

would the birds come to stare

perched on my branches

and the deer leap gleefully

to eat my fruit?

would my roots so entrenched

nurture another

with bark

aged and weathered like me?

 

if I should fall thunderously

shaking the ground for miles

who would be brave

and defend me

from the destructive blazes

and humans hungry for my wood

you

let me slowly become compost?

 

would you?

 

~rharmon 2006

copyright

 

 

CALL AND RESPONSE

 

The drum sounds rhythmically

its percussive vibrations welcomed, roll into my me.

No shutters prohibiting

Sounds touch skin,

opening pores and leaving hairs on end, unexpectedly

 

The sounds call and the body responds reflexively

The beats hypnotize, resonate

touching my deepest core

 

Uninhibited free me movements ensue

Manifest as dance unrehearsed

 

Natural dance rhythms coerced

almost magically,

uniquely seductive.

Dance, dance!

As hands beat drum purposefully

 

~from Poetic Moves While Doctoring (2006) © rharmon

 

 

HONEY TO ME

 

your love to me 

is like honey

straight from the comb—

 

Golden

Rich

Sticky

Pure

Unadulterated sweetness.

 

 

 

REFUGEE CAMP

 ~dedicated to the Liberian refugees at the Buduburam Refugee Camp, Ghana

 

Displaced people 

In the midst of deprivation

Raise their voices high in jubilation

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound"

 

Like banyan trees

Sprouting branches of hope

Rooted deeply in the belief that

Goodness will prevail

 

Escaping civil unrest

Leaving tangibles behind

To settle here

Living piece by peace

Peacefully deprived

 

They have been named "refugees"

Distinguished from those born here

Similar in appearance

Struggling to be the melting pot

 

Their dwellings lie clustered

With areas of relief sometimes

Announced by the stench that drifts 

Unwanted in the air

 

My people 

Have lingered here and endured

 

With an unshakeable faith that eases the suffering

With ambitious plans

and fantastical dreams that unify

 

With hopes of a future homecoming

With thoughts of never returning

Living day to day

Piece by piece

Escaping civil unrest

Leaving tangibles behind

 

My people have lingered here and endured much

Through faith

 

~from Being in Two Volumes (2009) © rharmon