- Janet Muniz is an award-winning professional writer known for informative articles, inspiring blog posts and engaging video content. Her personal blog, The Shape of Trees, is devoted to filling the well with poetry, pictures and originality.
On the craggy cliffs of Jamaica’s western shore, an out-of-body experience.
luminous Caribbean bends and sways
black ink beckoning in darkness
foaming wild around fingers of lava stone.
How exquisite it would be to slip in
a smooth decent in silence.
sliding away from the Knowing,
release of muscle and bone, shaking off past and pain
flight of heart and mind, salt dissolving the no longer.
breathing in brine and breeze
lulled by the sleep of forever …
but for that touch from nature’s hand
observing from just behind.
revealing the case for holding on
in the glow of light and love.
The oil is olive
liquid luscious golden deep
already fresh with flavor and hungry for more
poured over fruit and flower, herb and spice
it breathes in the good, generates the heat
a taste to savor, never the same as before.
Sun rises later, now
lower in the sky
Shards of light cut deeper across fertile land.
Just after High Noon peaks
End of Day squeezes the brightness down
into tight fists of Never Enough.
What once delights mellows with old love,
potent and pure in its remains
ripples in satisfaction more subtle and soft,
stepping back from the heart to the gut without regret.
Feeling in the bones a release of grit and sweat,
moving with ease and shine
into a season of slowing down and letting go.
You visit me in a dream
writing down things left to do on your yellow pad.
We can take care of it, yes.
You let me hug you
I see the black and blue, feel the lump in my throat
as the dream moves off in a new direction
My last words to you are, “I love you Frank.”
Sometimes surrender is the sweetest love.
“They wondered nonetheless about the curious net of obligations, failings, coincidences, and events that seem to tie everything together, even for those who think they are free … maybe there are laws of obligation which bind us to patterns that we can’t see and to tasks that we don’t perceive.”
-Mark Helprin, Winter’s Tale