Treasure

You held on in shallow tide pool
beneath the salty tidal sting--
and fading pink light
pinned
pressed
by sharp heavy rocks,
weathered
but unbroken.
Then, 
discovered
uncovered
you are lifted
by gentle fingers,
carried in warm palm,
treated like treasure.


Copyright 2014 by Hope A. Horner
http://www.HopeHorner.com
Offline use by permission only. 

Purpose

The wind comes in the fall
with purpose --

to break 
          the brown,
dislodge
          the dead,
throw down.
Wind
Cold
Gutters the gold.
Santa Anas whip 
to strip limbs bare--
barren branches left to cope
in winter wait 
for blossoms of hope.





Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2014. Use with permission only.
Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122.
Follow on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/HopeNote

Familiar

From familiar hills You come--
Brushing nostalgic slopes, 
Once green velvet, now dormant and dry.

You come 
Quiet like the wind
Radiant, 
Encircling,
Slicing through childhood canyons
Treading sacred paths
Scattering flowers
Moving clouds
Tipping the light out of your eyes.
You come--
Familiar,
Like home.



Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2014. Use with permission only. Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122
Follow on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/HopeNote

Butterfly Lilt

Small white butterflies 
like summer snowflakes 
fall and flutter;
I swerve to miss them
on bike 
on foot
in my car.
They are on their way, too,
but they will not stop.
No rest for the winged.
They float and flutter and fling themselves on flowers like desperate lovers;
weave between sycamores like playful youth,
lilt and jump as though on a string
until the fall comes and the wind changes direction,
carries them out of town
to make way for the season of moths--
when bikes rest
feet sink deep in boots
cars make warm caves
And butterflies sleep.


-Hope Horner, 2014
Follow on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/HopeNote
Feel free to post, forward and share!
For offline publishing contact author on gmail at hopeh1122

Release

Click
       of release

                    into the open

Leap
      of joy
             to break free

Bolt
     of happiness
                     to not be broken

Flash
       of recognition
                          "This is me."





Copyright Hope A. Horner, 2014.
Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122
Follow on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/hopenote

The Janitor

Hola amiga
I said
I was late for a meeting
Click click click
My heels on the shiny linoleum
City hall dark except for the hallway
Hola amiga
She replied holding open the bathroom door with her foot.
Como estas? I asked.
Tired she said.
Mucho trabajo.
You work everyday? I asked.
Si
She picked up a towel;
Her hands were thicker than mine
Her face older
Everyday? I ask
Here, 6 to 2 she said.
Then I clean houses in the day
Take care of boy in the night
Her trail of tools was long
A mop
A broom
A box of blue, green, yellow bottles
A bucket of rags and sponges
A yellow warning sign
CUIDADO
You work on the weekends too? I asked.
She wheeled a large gray trashcan down the hall away from me
Black plastic bags flapping off the sides like flags
I don't have weekends she said.

-Hope A. Horner, 2014. Use with permission only. Follow on Twitter @HopeNote
Contact author on gmail at hopeh1122