Time To Fly

imageedit_12poi_3047671400

Time To Fly

The sun watches all from high in the sky
caterpillar to butterfly, miracles so small
when wings become dry it’s time to fly.

Everything smells wonderful and clean
flowers and grasses grow so tall
the sun watches all from high in the sky.

In the warmth, my mood is serene
outside the sunlight touches all
when wings become dry it’s time to fly.

There is magic in the color green
and music plays in nature’s call
the sun watches all from high in the sky.

The spirit renews in life’s routines
slow and steady the protocol
when wings become dry it’s time to fly.

Many mysteries remain unseen
constantly changing our tiny blue ball
the sun watches all from high in the sky
when wings become dry it’s time to fly.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

This is my first Villanelle and I hope it’s written correctly. Written with my friends at dVerse~Poets Pub. Shared with my friends at Poets United.

Advertisements

Nuns And Sunflowers

bekkiesgreensunflower

Nuns And Sunflowers
(My tribute to Fellini.)

A long afternoon spent
in a field of ripe sunflowers
my faded picnic blanket
a magic carpet.

The ultraviolet rays
sing my body a warm lullaby
my hands stop worrying
at the worn threads of my mind
as goldenrod heads gently nod
in blissful agreement above me
nature doing Fellini proud
(or is it just me?)

As the day settles into the heat
the visions start to fade
but before the spell is broken
I see myself surrounded
by nun’s in old habits
collecting seeds and planting sunflowers
(I am not alone.)

My last thought of course
like a hummingbird’s sweet kiss
settles on you.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written for my friends at Poets United seeking the extraordinary from the ordinary and my tribute to Fellini. Also shared for open link at dVerse~Poets Pub. Artwork animated by me.

Spare The Air

IMG_1527

Spare The Air

It’s lunch hour in San Francisco on a foggy day. The sun tries to shed some light on the subject burning through the layers of car exhaust and jet streams from the nearby airport. The rush hour is in full force as drivers slowly move in lines like ants on the various freeways trying to free themselves of their cars. The local news station warns residents that it’s a Spare The Air Day.

Seated on a park bench near the bay munching on a sandwich the view is amazing. The yellow, orange and crimson streaks of color in the sky are beautiful. The sun is weaving in and out of the cloud layer making the afternoon light look magical. Without some pollution, the colors would never be quite like that. I am reminded of how a little smog can still be admired and enjoyed.

noon sun shimmers
a bayside Kodachrome moment
spare the air lunch hour

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Photography by +Woojin Yu follow his work on Google+.

A haibun written with my friends at dVerse~Poets Pub. In California, a Spare The Air Day is when the air is still and polluted to the point that making fires in fireplaces, burning garbage and other things that could add to the problem are prohibited until further notice. This is because we have very strict pollution laws. Although this picture looks like total pollution it’s mostly fog which we have a lot here. Despite my words, California has some of the best air in the US because most of our pollution goes down to the central valley.

Truth

imageedit_3_8471230339[2]

Truth

Dust particles dance
within a shaft of sunlight
slowly crossing the room
traveling over my body
warm and comforting
like a lovers embrace
to the mirror where I stand
contemplating my mortality
the sun has become harsh
I raise a hand in denial.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

We are writing about mirrors this Wednesday at Poets United where I’ll link up then.

Forever In A Dollhouse

bekkieshouse

Forever In A Dollhouse

I am lost in my childhood dollhouse
stuck in my dreams
forever waiting for my turn
I wanted a real dollhouse
made of wood with pretty wallpaper
but I got a metal dollhouse
with a plastic family and furniture.

The sky’s a sullen shade of cyan
over the stagnant water
of my metallic pool
the sun burns itself out trying
while rust slowly accumulates
smelling just like blood.

These empty, echoing rooms
scraping by against alloy walls
covered in fake pictures and plants
numb in toxic surroundings
while black mold climbs the stamped stairway
I can’t escape this sinking feeling.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

I really did have a metal dollhouse almost just like this. My artwork and animation unnamed.

Written with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads for the theme home.

A Different View

imageedit_27_5200503945
A Different View

The rain falls on my canopy
a pitter-patter so serene
time gets lost inside these woods
where everything is mossy green.

Once the storm has taken hold
illuminating the darkening sky
animals escape to their cozy dens
they run for cover, but not I.

I drink deeply of this gift
rainy weather won’t phase me
I patiently wait for the sun’s return
to grow into a bigger tree.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

The art is mine called Magic Forest. Covering prompts 2 and 3, with Imaginary Garden Of Real Toads and shared with Poets United.

Flying

picspeed-2014824257

Flying

Flying
where am I?

I am traveling by your side
the sun acting as our guide
my emotions burning bright
like a scarlet sunset might
I felt lost behind this face
’till we leaped into this space
the clouds parted ways for me
now my vision’s clear, I see.

Flying
where am I?

Together
now we fly.

© Rebecca Sanchez 2017

Written with Saturdays Image Write.