Prim

Primrose lived in a beautiful garden oasis, 
Where she spent her life in a kind of stasis--
Weeding her garden and tending her flowers;
On the cobblestone pathways, she would spend hours.
With her emerald green eyes and golden-wheat hair,
Compared to the plain sort of clothes she would wear,
Her striking looks were quite an allure.
What lay under the surface,  one couldn't be sure.
She loved all the beauty surrounding her home, 
But deep down she'd buried a yearning to roam--
To travel, discover, and see brand new places;
To photograph unfamiliar faces.
She longed to strike out on a world-wand'ring whim,
But all those who knew her said, "She's much too prim."
So, year after year, she would garden and trim.
After all, that's what others expected of "Prim."
Then one day an eagle flew by, overhead, 
And dropped a small thing on the top of her head--
A thin piece of fabric, tied up with a bow; 
One word was imprinted--it simply said, "Go."
This sign was so clear that it couldn't be missed.
Primrose started, in earnest, a caretakers list.
Her cousin came quickly to hold down the fort.
Soon Primrose was headed, fast, to the airport. 
As the plane hit the air, Prim laughed out in glee,
For she wasn't as prim as folks thought her to be.

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart 

Fuel

Fuel isn’t simply for motors

Or even to build the physique.

It’s inspiration for the mind—

Ideas that are unique;

The sparks of creativity

That light a brand new flame—

The color, texture, or mot juste;

It’s never just the same.

It’s motivation, relevance

That leads us from one place

To quite another locale

In form, intent, or space.

Fuel comes in many fashions

To kindle and inspire.

What starts out small may quickly,

As we know, become a fire.

 

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart

Citrus

Vesicles bursting with each bite
Releasing tongue-tingling sprays
Some sweet, some sour, some in between

Delicious in all their ways
Fruit salad, juice, cocktails, jam

Tangerine, lemon, orange, lime
Pomelo, kumquat, clementine
Anytime is citrus time

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart 

Ready

"Get ready," they said;
But I COULDN'T!
I'm really rather shy,

So when that curtain opened
I thought that I would DIE.
So many pairs of eyes
Fixed on me, as I stood
Frozen in suspended time;
I knew it wasn't good.
But then I reached inside myself
And found my readiness.
I breathed in deep, recouping
From my pulse's threadiness.
My preparation, practice,
And time spent smoothing out
All came together flawlessly
As now I twirled about.
Each grand jeté, each pirouette;
Each glisser and sauté

Performed with such precision,
No one could look away.
They held their breath as I danced on,
With effortless aplomb
And found my heart was grateful
That all of them had come.
No longer was I nervous;

I felt just feather-like!
At last, I ended with a pose.
The host approached the mic.
I drifted backstage, silent,
And with a smile, surmised,
I really HAD been ready
But hadn't realized.

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart 

Words

Clusters of letters
Arranged in such a way that
They express meaning

The building blocks of
Sentences, paragraphs, and
Finally, stories

The words we use can
Make or break the message we
Most want to convey

We weave and knit them
To form a well-composed work,
Fitting its author

Coastal

Sun, rain; windy; clouds
Expect all varieties
Florence coastal clime

Sand dunes, kite shop, bridge
Over Old Town; find seafood,
Coffee, and pizza

Moist marine climate
Old-timers - generations
Spent here in Florence

Friendly little town
At the beach, you'll find salty
Air, kelp, and driftwood

Nostalgic corner
Of my childhood memories
Being a coast kid

Retire in Florence
Live an easy-going life
With the ocean near

Woods (A Warning)

 

Don’t go into the woods alone—

The woods are filled with bears.

There may be wolves out there as well;

Their jaws are ugly snares.

 

Don’t go into the woods alone—

A pit might be disguised,

All covered up with twigs and stuff—

Not overt to the eyes.

 

Don’t go into the woods alone—

You’ll lose your navigation

And wander ‘round for many days,

Until you meet starvation.

 

Don’t go into the woods alone—

A lady there doth wait;

She’ll lure you in with sweets, and then…

You’ll end up on her plate.

 

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart

 

Mountain Majesty

 

Oh, lovely bluffs and heightened hills

That rise above the heath;

The eminence of cliff and crag

O’er flatlands down beneath—

Your ranges dot the vistas wide,

And awesome is their sight,

With peaks and walls

And waterfalls

Majestic day and night.

 

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart