In the coming year,
the only drama I want to see
is that of a bird taking flight,
or a riotous garden of blooms.
The only shade thrown is
sunlight through leaves.
The only influencer I want to follow
is the one who encourages me
to be still, the one who welcomes me
with branches spread wide,
like grandmother’s arms,
the one who caresses my face
with winds that whisper in high tree tops-
“Welcome home.”
© Amy Porterfield 2021
Autumn morning,
golden, delicious,
crisp as a ripe apple.
Rising sun
lifting a blanket of fog,
waking the world,
whispering secrets into the wind.
Listen.
Be still, and listen.
© Amy Porterfield 2021
I moved into my house twenty years ago, and it is still mostly decorated just the way the former owners left it. Only now it is much grimier thanks to the animals and kids I have acquired during my stay here. I have a terrible time making choices and decisions about home decor. I have no fashion sense, and my anxiety makes it difficult for me settle on anything. There is always a nagging, “But what if…?” and “But what about…?” When I had my first baby I couldn’t bring myself to decorate the nursery because I didn’t know this little person and I didn’t know what he liked and what if he hated all the things I picked out? What if I picked a sports theme and he preferred zoo animals or something? OMG the pressure!! My dad finally just showed up and painted the room blue. The child is 13 now and the room is still the same blue and he doesn’t seem to mind. I tell this story to give you some background about this poem, as well to introduce my next Imposter Adventure. The poem is in response to this prompt at Putting My Feet in the Dirt (love her prompts), and the writing of the poem helped to nudge me along the path to updating my home.
What Color is Life?
The walls of my room
are boring and bland.
Ordinary Eggshell,
yellowing like curdled milk.
A sour atmosphere
that doesn’t reflect
the life within these walls.
But what color is life?
A sleepy, slumbering blue?
A giddy, laughing yellow?
A romantic rose?
A pinky peach newborn?
An angry red that finally fades
into a quiet indigo twilight?
What color is your love for me,
and mine for you,
and ours for this life?
I’m not sure,
but it isn’t eggshell.
© Amy Porterfield 2021
In response to February Writing Prompts over at Putting My Feet in the Dirt.
Beyond Bliss
Early morning sunshine, coffee,
snuggling snoring sleepyheads,
dry warmth in cold, wet weather…
When life seems increasingly complicated,
simple pleasures remain
steadfast as ever.
Understanding this
is joy beyond bliss.
© Amy Porterfield 2021
In response to February Writing Prompts at Putting My Feet in the Dirt. (I love these prompts! Thank you so much for the inspiration!)
Burying Yesterdays
I buried my yesterdays,
buried them deep
in the rich earth.
I nourished them with tears,
warmed them with joy,
and watched them grow
into a beautiful today,
fortified by wisdom,
wanting nothing more
than to stand in the
light of now
and be happy.
© Amy Porterfield 2021
I’ve been interested in photography as a hobby for a while now, but I have found it to be prohibitively expensive. So, several years ago my husband bought me some little lenses that stick on your phone’s camera. He found them on Groupon Goods for $7. You can read more about them here. The set came with a wide-angle lens and a fish-eye lens, but I have had the most fun with the little macro lens. We are having a real winter here for the first time in ages, and I was able to get up close and personal with some flurries.
We are expecting several more inches of snow over the next few days. This will be the biggest snow event we’ve seen since I was little, and I’m so excited for my kids to experience a “real” winter snow! Hopefully I’ll be able to get some good shots of the kids and the snow this week. Fingers crossed that we don’t lose power during all this. I made sure to get our bread and milk yesterday 🙂
Stay safe and warm, and enjoy the snow!
In response to February Writing Prompts at Putting My Feet in the Dirt.
A blue crayon
grasped in a chubby fist
made these marks,
that I can’t bring myself
to wash away.
One last reminder
of the baby you were.
Where my eyes see the boy you are,
and my mind imagines
the man you are becoming,
My heart holds my baby tightly,
like a blue crayon
grasped in a chubby fist.
© Amy Porterfield 2021
In response to February Writing Prompts at Putting My Feet in the Dirt.
If I were the wind,
I would tousle your hair,
caress your face,
and whisper in your ear.
I would lift ladies’ skirts
and snatch men’s hats
to make you laugh.
I would clear your cloudy skies,
keep your kite aloft,
but steal your balloon.
Love and loss are so intimately related.
I would lay flower petals,
seeds, and feathers at your feet.
I would lift your prayers to heaven.
And I would carry your scent,
and the echoes of your voice with me
forever and ever.
© Amy Porterfield 2021
After a drizzly morning,
clearing clouds reveal
the remnants of a rainy day.
Pooling puddles shine
like mirrored glass
on the sidewalks,
just right for jumping.
Little legs running,
frog-hopping feet
splish-splashing,
sending water flying.
Soaking sneakers, soggy socks,
and a little boy
bending to examine
a wriggling worm.
© Amy Porterfield 2020
playing in the dappled sunshine 