Purest Magic

I believe in magic.

I believe there is a magic
woven into hearts of any age.
It draws us to its bosom
each time we turn the page
to a new chapter in life;
invites our entry into a larger world.
That pure light of discovery is magic,
it stretches out toward the heavens
with an open mind and
connects us to God's universal magic
in us all.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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It's A New World

Females had their expected place
one of submission, few choices
no dreams
beyond children and home.

Fifties females had no voice
but the children watched;
and the children grew
and knew there was more.

A matter of choice with a voice!
Any way this girl can shout it
stands as anthem to her place...
helping others to find the same grace.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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Crystal Clear Blue Eyes

He’s always had
crystal clear
blue eyes;
I always thought
somehow they represented
the clarity of his character.
Youth now faded
along with hair; teeth,
perhaps a bit of the sharpness
of memory,
but
behind those eyes
there still lies
a genuine heart,
a man of strength,
honesty; good character.
Maybe it’s true after all,
that the eyes
are the window
of the soul.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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Growin' Old

Old hearts long enter twined
relax and share their evening wine
laugh and reminisce about younger days.
Kids all grown, well on their way,
retirement has grown on us;
we're learning to play and
love our vacations by the sea.
How long we can keep it all up
have such times as these, you and me
who knows! ... but hang on baby
for the ride's all downhill,
and growin' old with you
is its own special thrill.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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Acrostic (Wintry Days)

Wind in the trees releases the leaves
invites them to fly onto rooftops, cling to the eaves.
Nostalgia hangs in the air, neighbors burn
their quickly raked mounds; try to beat the
rain predicted. Admiring the colors of
yesterday blanketing my yard, the

darkening skies overhead sends a chill that
awakens me to my shivering senses. I retreat and
yield to the need for warmth;
snuggle by a glowing fire as rain arrives.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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Feels The Same

Dark and windy
cold and wet,
our winter isn’t
finished quite yet.
A new year blowin’ in
brings gloomy predictions;
yesterday’s soggy bogs have
become quagmires we must
deal with today.

He will save us, we hope; we pray
we are able to save ourselves.
Ominous weather brews;
no one has any clues
where it’s all really headed.
So hang on and hang tough,
the climate of the economy is
as bleak as the weather outside.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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ACROSTIC (Winter Blues)

W hen all outdoor interest has faded,
I am stuck inside my refuge from the storms in
n eed of mental stimulation. So I
t ry to stay busy;
e ven tackle those postponed projects that
r equire time I would never give in summer.

B elieve me, staying focused is the answer. If you want to
l ose seasonal doldroms, you must
u nleash your own creativity and
e liminate any idle complaint
s o you can overcome the onset of winter blues.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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One Voice

Her family raised and gone,
she, too, has moved on
beyond the life of her youth;
its yoke of responsibility cast off.
From a career's daily grind
'retirement' now redefines her;
even the old voices of guilt
have been silenced
when polish and dusting cloths
wait for the housekeeper's hands
and the vacuum roars
in someone else's ears.
She's about the business
of living her golden years;
the only voice she hears
at long last...
is her own.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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ACROSTIC (Wednesday Sales)

W atching the special season, I
E ntertain a shopping spree;
D ecide this day is best.
N oting hubby has plans of his own, I
E valuate my needs, target the stores and
S avor the day’s prospects. I am
D etermined to find myself
A new wardrobe of clothes as
Y early sales are calling.

S hoppers just like me will be as eager.
A ll will be ready for an early start
L ining up outside the doors;
E xcitedly, they too, will gather in
S urrender to a new season's siren call.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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Wednesday Sales

Acrostic using....

'Wednesday Sales'

Watching the special season
Entertaining a shopping spree;
Deciding the day that's best
Noting hubby has plans of his own.
Evaluating my need, I target the stores;
Savor the day’s prospects and
Determine to find myself
A new wardrobe of clothes as
Yearly sales are calling.

Shoppers like me will be as eager;
All will be ready for an early start.
Lining up outside the doors,
Excitedly, they too, will gather in
Surrender to the siren call.

poem by Carolyn Brunelle
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