Sometimes I awake in Ireland
The rivers mists swell up its banks
Roommates sigh over tea, missing Cork and Ederny
Greet the dawn at the kitchen sink
Morning coffee, steams through the stillness
That only pauses, when the mists comes
by Caroline Juhlin-Parke
Heron
The fisherman picks the net clean of silver bellied smelt that shimmer like money in his
bucket. He feeds the heron, that great grey flamingo, that steps like a dancer next to his big green boots. So much beauty, so much longing. After all these years, she still occupies his heart like a net full of butterflies.
by Ivy Young
I found your blog...Lovely poems! I'm Bonnie (Willms) Jonas, I'm returning from expat life in Japan to Canada. I wish I had a way to connect to you on LinkedIn! You sound like a great gal to chat with. I'd like to share a motivational free podcast which your network might find helpful. www.thehappyroadahead.com
ReplyDeleteIf you get a chance, please connect to me as a friend or other on LinkedIn. I'll watch for you...Thanks!