My fingers painted
Poetry with blood dripping
From my bleeding heart
My fingers painted
Poetry with blood dripping
From my bleeding heart

The beginning
The middle
The end

Captured on my walk home.
Because the world needs an orange rose!

A waiting world
Takes a break
Waiting for night
Waiting for light
A hesitant moon
Makes its move
Rising in power
Rising in might

A heart from you
A heart for me
A heart with your
Sweet liberty
I feel your soul
I feel your love
I feel your care –
Soft gentle dove
And we love orange!

Splinters of orange
Crack apart the sleeping night –
Gray morphs into day

A colleague of mine turned thirty today. I spent a few minutes thinking back on my thirties. Just because I’ve been there and I can. I thought of how I can sum up those ten years of my life? Well, I spent much energy on unhelpful thoughts. But. I traveled to Hungary, Zimbabwe, the UK, Australia. My daughter was born. We moved countries. I saw both my children start at school. I volunteered with reading groups. And eventually, at the age of 39.5, I harnessed all my unhelpful thoughts, and began to yarn them into poetry. My tapestry of life. Passion through poetry.