A Fresh Page

A simple pleasure you might remember

is turning from the first, and second draft

to smell the crisp, invigorating scent

of a blank page.

The page beckons. It is yours.

It is beautiful like an untrammeled,

brilliantly white,

snowy hillside, before you ski

over the edge, in a thrilling jaunt,

feeling both solitude and

a joyful oneness with all.

Don’t let expectations limit

what you commit to the paper.

Let your heart leak onto the page

and into the new beginning,

binding you to

tomorrow,

and to this fragile,

and beautiful world.

©Laurie Lynn Newman

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Deserts and Seas

If you have never felt

desperation clench your heart

like a person starved, grasping bread;

if you’ve not felt your mind crushed

by thoughts in conflict, struggling to choose

the path of least danger for your child,

yourself, and spouse;

if you have never known an empty stomach,

churning night after night,

then you may never understand just why

a person, and peoples, would cross

blazing, barren deserts

or fling themselves into tumultuous seas

on rickety boats to flee violence, famine

and to cross borders into foreign lands.

Yet, this is what millions do, for survival.

It happened two thousand years ago, too.

©Laurie Lynn Newman

Icon by Kelly Lattimore

Sunday Spirit-Walk

Looking up, I see that the breeze

has pushed away the deep,brilliant blue.

The sky is flushed pale.

Smears of white, puffy cloud are spread

thin, across the expansive New Mexico sky.

Now and then, a small bird form flashes

across my sight.

The November cold has muted the

pungent, summer-sage-scent,

But still you can breathe in the

fragrance of wood, dust and dirt.

I walk the neighborhood path and greet

people moving briskly, with dogs.

This patch of land is domesticated,

but underneath lies history and potential.

We are walking on land that was home

to primal life.

Under our feet, we crunch the remnants

of spirit, of ancient skeleton,

of wild, mystic union.

Essentially Present

There is a tiny vial of essential oil

that my husband slathered on his chest,

a balm to ease the tumor pain.

I keep the vial on the top right shelf

of the mirrored medicine cabinet.

Sometimes, I uncork the bottle

and breathe in the cinnamon-musk fragrance

and I am flooded with memory:

his arms drawing me tightly to him;

the sense of homecoming that wrapped us together

like a supple and warm blanket.

I uncorked that vial this morning.

©️Laurie Lynn Newman

Witness

Some things stay the same,

mostly.

And everything else changes,

faster than you might think.

A witness of cedars stand,

their roots burrowed down

into deep loam, interlocked

and steady.

Their crowning branches brush

the sky, where a white

kaleidoscope of clouds

changes patterns,

moved by the whispering wind.

Walking through the grove of trees

in a holy hush,

I sense the timeless rootedness

and wonder if I can be

more a cedar

and less of a wispy water-vapor

of cloud?

©️Laurie Lynn Newman

Moon Illusion

This morning, the moon

was hugging the horizon before streaks

of sunlight began to dawn.

Science shows that the closer to the horizon

the larger the moon appears to be.

And, due to the angle and filtered light,

that same moon looks orange,

like a harvest pumpkin,

waiting to be carved into a treat

or a trick.

Yes, the moon is closer.

No, the moon is not bigger than usual.

Yes, the moon is blushing orange.

No, things are not always as they

appear to be.

©️Laurie Lynn Newman