Strolling Through the Woods on a Wintry Night

inhale
lungs tingle

exhale
breath condenses

step through
the hovering fog bank

snow crystals crunch
beneath heavy boots

Moon and stars peep
through slow moving clouds
to keep me company
as we stroll
through the woods
on a wintry night

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019

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Still At Sea

at times
heart is
a ship’s hold
devoid of cargo
empty like
a promise
yet to be
fulfilled

still
it beats
and beats
and beats…

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019

Seventy-one Grains of Sand

Earth spins and tilts
clouds form and dissipate
sun rises and sets
Moon waxes and wanes

perpetual motion
unaltered by humankind

these things
were (before us)
and
will be (after us)

if we sit
and think
of our lives
in the grand scheme
the universe is a beach
and we are seventy-one grains of sand*

*At the Johnson Geo Center in St. John’s, NL, there are glass-encased stacks of sand representing the age of the rock on Signal Hill, the age of the Earth, the age of the universe and the average life span of a human – 71. When you stand next to the stacks, you experience just how small we are in the universe. Literally, we are but specks. 

© Poetry from the Inkwell 2019