365 Words. 365 Days. 365 Opportunities.

Complete

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sat, 16 Feb 2013 14:33:00 +0000

This marks the end of my 2012 project and the beginning of a new one.

Thank you so much for keeping up with my blog! It has been such a gift to share my work with you!!

Year

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 23:53:00 +0000

Year

All year long

I've been chasing sunsets,

trains,

power lines,

streams of exhaust in the sky,

the rain,

the emptiness of roads

to know myself better

to like who I've become

to reflect on what I think

I already know.

I've run and left footprints

of me

sometimes too heavy to

climb out of,

sometimes too quickly pressed

to make out at all.

All year

and still I don't know

any secrets.

I only know the surface of one

tiny piece of the world

and the thickness of my own skin

that promises to cradle me when

the knowing wrinkles under the sun

and into memory.

(ycp)

Sound

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 23:41:00 +0000

Sound

With one look

I think

these skies were painted

with the sounds

of a million whispers

that were

braided together

to weave streams of light

and then stretched clear across

the entire universe

because the echo of this view

is so gentle

yet so sensitively

profound.

It's just like

a whisper.

(ycp)

Moon

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 23:33:00 +0000

Moon

The moon,
she sings.

The night,
her newborn baby.

The wind,
moon's gentle touch.

The clouds,
safety in movement.

(ycp)

Lifetime

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 23:23:00 +0000

Lifetime

I always listen to the seasons

as they change out of their masks

to be what they must be.

And just like the seasons,

you are constant.

You are lovely.

You have stories to tell.

So, I listen

and I watch you grow.

You shed your skin,

to reveal exactly what was meant to be.

New colors add to destiny.

You have a lifetime to become

your purpose.

Every transition of you is beautiful.

Every change is a thankful gift

to the future.

Every layer

is a new beginning.

(ycp)

Free

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 22:59:00 +0000

Free

I can move,

free,

and scramble under rusted fences.

Those barbs, growing like fingers,

might stretch out to catch

my skin,

my clothes,

my movement.

Or, like teeth,

they might chomp holes

through the sturdy pages of my books

and fracture all the words I've written.

But I can go

without those things

because my eyes see the future

in the distance,

closure to my wounds,

different surfaces on which to write my thoughts.

I'm free

no matter the sharpness of

any of these fences.

I can move.

I'm free.

(ycp)

Sick

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 16 Jan 2013 19:11:00 +0000

Sick

Waiting with all the others
who don't have names,
but symptoms.

Sitting too closely
together,
no matter how wide
the lobby becomes,
we breathe hoping not to catch
or give
the things we've caught
too freely.

One by one,
they go in and file out
through the revolving door of
infirmity.

(ycp)

Imprint

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 19:41:00 +0000

Imprint

Shoeprints in the snow
walk their way to memories
of dancing in boots.

(ycp)

Star

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 19:29:00 +0000

Star

The roughness of the star is

incidental to

the feel of its angles against

the tips of starving human fingers.

Red.

White.

Blue.

Fireworks.

Flags.

Unpaid bills.

American.

Bruises.

(ycp)

Etch

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 19:24:00 +0000

Etch

I want this to be

etched here forever so that

spring remains planted.

(ycp)

Shining

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 04:27:00 +0000

Shining

The shining expression of sunset

is a waltz,

a loving dance,

where the reticence of day

rests her head on the sturdy shoulder of

night.

Effortless,

that letting go of day,

the parts of it that beg forgetting.

Colors shift

as soft as the sighs of a soulmate

who tosses and turns

under the blanket of night,

knowing that sunrise

is delivered

by the jealous hand of an uncertain tomorrow.

(ycp)

Lace

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 03:43:00 +0000

Lace

The sun sends its whispers

to the edges of earthen waves,

to the soil, rock,

the evidence of time.

It falls like lace would onto the fingertips

of breezes,

emerging into shadows,

then swirling blurs of sunsets,

into night,

and then,

into

the innocence of sleep.

(ycp)

Chain

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 03:34:00 +0000

Chain

Connectedness is

chained to night detached.

Hints of hope glow bright.

(ycp)

Park

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 03:24:00 +0000

Park

The park is home to

a million different splinters:

dotted childhood skin.

(ycp)

Interpret

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 13 Jan 2013 02:51:00 +0000

Interpret

Left here

to interpret

notes written

wheels spinning

watching closely

time marching

into tomorrow

love escaping

with it.

(ycp)

Stretch

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 10 Jan 2013 20:08:00 +0000

Stretch

I see strains of art stretching across the surfaces of everywhere.

It is not canvas-bound.

It is not only hand-made,

nature-made,

tailor-made.

It is firstly invisible.

Art is made

by the eyes that

abandon convention and engage the allure of what cannot be.

Because then it becomes.

Stretch.

Then, you can see the trees dancing motionless

above you

or the spirit of love proclaimed within infinite stanzas.

It is wordless poetry.

(ycp)

Rise

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 10 Jan 2013 19:43:00 +0000

Rise

Arms are long enough

to pull tall trees out of roots.

They rise into hope.

(ycp)

Forget

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 10 Jan 2013 19:39:00 +0000

Forget

Some things

I don't want to forget

like the way it feels to

walk through the trees,

or what it is

to know and be known without explanation

or fear that whatever I am

is good enough.

This house of leaves

where golden ideas float and rustle into music

is where

I can always remember

the scent that's given off

as inhibitions crumble

into seedlings of the best parts that are left of me.

(ycp)

View

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 19:15:00 +0000

View

Encountering nature with

a silent stare

so that

motion is suspended

just to keep it,

a coyote doubles as king.

From down here,

all one can do is be watched.

In the cold, open air

there is no use in telling stories

to decorate face value.

What is in view

from creature to creature

is all we need

to talk about.

(ycp)

Happy

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 18:58:00 +0000

Happy

I am happy here.

I've found a home

in love,

on two legs,

dependable schedules,

giant-sized pillows, and warm laps.

I think I matter.

I think I'm important.

I think it's safe enough

to smile.

(ycp)

Bite

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 16:49:00 +0000

Bite

A crisp bite to eat

flavors my belly sweetly.

Red gems from a tree.

(ycp)

Comfort

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 03:57:00 +0000

Comfort

Comfort is a home

that welcomes uncertainty

with the warmth of love.

(ycp)

Give

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 03:19:00 +0000

Give

I give myself

permission to open

every window

in my view

both

real and imagined

to see the mysteries

embedded in life's design

so that the birds

have stories to tell

that can't only be understood

with words

in the way we say them

everything speaks

a powerful language

(ycp)

Kiss

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 02:49:00 +0000

Kiss

We chase kisses and

their melodies that pour life

into voiceless mouths.

(ycp)

Breathing

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 02:40:00 +0000

Breathing

Dancing in the water

like sheets on a line

or the ins and outs of

lungs

nestled in perfect calmness,

the body is

a breathing eye.

(ycp)