A collection of poetry from Josh Preston
There is a truth
rooted and unchanging
beneath small wishes
among clouds sailing:
(I am thankful for you).
There is a smile
pleasant and genuine
that calls for nothing more
to end or begin:
(Just how you are).
There is a laugh
so special and unique
for still I treasure
all you say and think:
(endlessly precious to me).
Yes:
I am thankful for you
just how you are
exactly how you are,
endlessly precious to me.
I hope there’s flowers in her hair
a wild wind mingling with root and rose
laughter in her voice from sun on her nose.
I hope she takes those little petals
places them down as silken white bookmarks
in those poetry books we read when apart.
I hope she’s somewhere out there now
tracing the tender trenches of her pillow
left void and open by an equally broke heart.
I hope she finds me
or maybe she won’t,
but all the same…
I hope there’s flowers in her hair.
I cannot tell you
The color of tomorrow’s sunrise
or what hues will burn
like leaves before eyes.
I cannot tell you
which plants in your garden
will bloom before others
or which ones you will have to prune
and wait for a season longer.
But I can tell you,
tomorrow is on its way.
You will step into that all-new day,
awake.
The green will grace us,
we will taste summer air.
We will feel a warmth
more calm and real
than that which frosts
with passing winters.
The sun will touch us
kissing our forehead
brightening our hair
beckoning flowers from the dirt.
Yes this green will emerge
surrounding us in thin symphonies
gently rocking nylon arms
which cradle weary souls.
For summer, my loves,
is approaching
The green will grace us again.
In her nest she sings to me
soft and sweet
reminding me of the coming spring
and the thawing of our hearts.
Across the trees
a duet begins
her cheerful harmony
showing me the possibility of connections again.
In her nest she sings to me
My new world:
Simply listening.
A frigid winter’s night apart
can’t stall this fervent start
nothing quite so cold and black
can freeze romantic hearts
I can bathe in cherry red
take sips from crystal glass
for no dark horizon’s call
is ever made to last
All these hues they call to me
perhaps I’ve always seen
the one eternal truth I know
romantic hearts are free
Of Poems and Places 