Exception

 

I do not

walk on roads

you’ve traveled,

for the allergens in

spores you

leave make me

queasy.

.

I do not

gaze upon

images that

bewitched you,

because you leave

trails of your acuity

that vex

my eyes.

.

I do not

desire the

creations of

your hands,

for your warmth

remains in them to

scathe me.

.

I cannot steal the

air you  

breathe,

for it

scrapes the

tubes

within me.

.

I cannot eat

the fruits of

your orchard,

for their flavor

reprimands

my stomach.

.

I cannot love

myself, for

you have loved

me,

but

at this point

I shall make

exception.

.

rvm 2009

It Must Be The Cake

red ribbon blueberry cheesecake

It must be the cake this morning
and the garnishings on top
that have caused much of the
aching of my selfish part.

When dear prudence said,
“Not too much, not too much…” —
it wasn’t listening.

It must be the cake this morning
and putting too much garnishings on top.

rvm
june 16 2010

Storm

 

 

 

Up there she cries like a modest lady

Sating the parched through a heart that’s sturdy

And nurses to being the dead of the earth

And vows to multiply her mirth.

 

When her heaviness is great, the seas quiver

The farmer shake afraid of too much splatter

In tandem with the wind, the eagle would rather

Rest and fly when she is gladder.

 

Pray that the clouds are ever gentle

Be it sunny or rainy weather

Hide beneath a roof or something stable

When she starts to break her manacle.

 

 

(c) Ruth Mostrales, February 2009

Heaven

I watched from the window

The bleeding anthuriums

The shadows of cottons on the hills

The frothless water and the river rocks crackle

The lizard who’s given up its limb

 

The limping walking stick

The blades of shrubs

The merciful trees to the nests

I watched the sun play around the yard

As schoolchildren pass by with leisurely haste

 

The playful footsteps of the sunbeam in the house

The holes where the rats had once been

The crocheted table tops

The cracked flower pots

And the banter of the teapot a-bubbling

 

I sit where my Granny used to rest near the window

I can hear her sweet words in my ear

She’s gone to a place where it’s always sunny

But for now my heaven is here.

 

By:  Ruth Mostrales, November 2008

Hope and Dream

Hope and Dream
by Ruthie Mostrales

Hope has got a friend,

her name is Dream;

when the road doesn’t end,

when the light is dim.

Hope takes a look,

Dream holds her hand,

and together they cook

A wonderful plan:

Hope says, “I hope—“,

Dream says, “I wish —“;

Hope says, “It’s possible…”,

Dream says, “It is…”!

When they travel together,

they go hand in hand,

and together they venture

To their promised land.

Copyright 2008

Ruth Mostrales