An ordinary day,
Filled with ordinary chores.

Cleaning the house,
Washing laundry,
Writing out the bills.

Life keeps moving at its usual pace,

Another new day.

5 O’clock the clock chimes, its time to start preparing dinner.
The smell of the food cooking radiating from the stove top.

Listening to the kids laughing,
Playing in the Living room,
Like kids do.

Going to set the table grabbing plates, forks placing them on the table.

At that moment you realize you grabbed four plates instead of three.

That old habit,
You became so a custom to.

Now, tears fill your eyes,
Looking at the empty seat
At the dinner table.

A seat,

Which was once filled with life,
Now sits empty.

That moment when you realize,
Life has changed,

But it keeps going anyway.

– Jamie Whorton ©

Addicts of the unseen,
Fueled by dreams,

Led by the heart,
Motivated by hope,

Sparked from the soul,
Empowered by the same unseen.

And what of
This unseen?

A path?

A notion?

From what drug
will we feed?

What hurt?

What failure?

What need,
must be filled
On this unseen journey?

The imagination feeds
The dreams.

Putting in
Motion each
Unseen notion,

Felt from deep within.

An igniting curiosity
Burning brightly.

Illuminating the way ahead,
Setting in place
Each stepping

Stone,

Forging the way for a
Journey unseen.

Failure is a lesson…

Each blow,

Each setback,

Only strengthening us,

Guiding our way forward,
To happiness,
And a sure success.

A happiness filling the void,

A foretold future
In all aspects,

Feeding each hunger,
Quenching every thirst.

The pen is the key
That unlocks the
Unseen…

Opening an unseen world,

Each thought blooming,
Bursting into life.

Each thought comes pouring out,

Bled from the pen,

To be seen,
And,

consumed by all,

Every soul
In our midst.

And therein lies
The beauty
And glory

Of the written word.

Each emotion,

A brilliant spotlight
Shining forth,

Declaring our way ahead…

Our way ahead
To a destination,
Unbeknownst ,

Heretofore,

But now
Exposed by the clarity
Of truly living,

And speaking…

Life.

by Jamie Whorton
Co-wrote with Bill at Wcspoetry.com

Gray sky December casting shadows all around. The sun hidden behind dense clouds.

The cold settling in,

Autumns beauty faded, turning tones of gray.

Brown leaves scatter across the ground.

Bare trees each branch sharp against the sky.

While the scene may be cold, and harsh,

Dull and, dingy,

Outdoors.

Inside is warm, and cheery,

The smell of mulled cider, Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies filling the air.

Making it a great time to curl up in a chair with a hot drink, and a good book.

Being grateful to live in a place with all changing seasons.

Knowing Spring’s thaw is around the corner bringing back the light, and warmth.

Bringing back the beauty, and color.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

 

Howling winds bellow through the trees shaking leaves, tossing them about.

Howling winds chilling me, sending shivers up my spine.

Even looking through the window pane, I hear its howls bellow, as it thrashes about.

I think I’ll just stay indoors,

Light a fire, and pour some tea.

Too warm the chills of the howling wind.

Getting nice, and toasty once more.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

 

Clouded eyes will never see the sun no matter how bright it shines.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

The farmer praying for sunshine, and clear blue skies. Mowing hay, and letting it lay, for a day.

The farmer rakes his hay into wind rows. Leaving the wispy rows to bask in the sunshine.

The sweet smell of the fresh mowed hay rises through the air.

The July heat can be seen dancing on the horizon.

Now, the hay has been baled. Sitting in rows looking like giant mini wheat’s.

The hay must be moved to the barn to be stacked. The harvesting of hay to last through the winter.

Sometimes the last bale is stacked at midnight.

A long days work.

Bringing in the hay before the dew kisses each bale. Leaving it damp, and likely to mold.

The danger of stacking wet bales causing combustion burning down the barn.

So, the hay must all be moved from field to barn.

From field to barn.

Load after load,

From dusk until midnight,

Till the field is empty,

and the barn is full.

 

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

There is a mystical place, a large opening behind a waterfall. I make my way behind the rushing water, to stand in the hollow indentation formed deep within the earth. I feel the misty spray of the water on my face, and see it trickling down the sides of the walls. I close my eyes and focus on the burbling of the water rushing down splashing off the surrounding rocks. Forming a pool of blue water. I then climb back down to go for a swim in the blue pool. Standing under the free flowing refreshing water. The sun is brightly shining reflecting on the surface of the water. Luscious green growth surrounds the waterfall making it a paradise.

 

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Its Friday evening headlights come shining up the drive. A little girl almost two runs to the window with excitement. Her daddy has arrived home after working out of town for a week, or two at a time. The front door opens, and daddy walks in, now the little girl rushes towards him with glee. Wrapping her arms around his legs in a loving embrace. He picks her up, and holds her asking how her week has been, and tells her he’s missed her, kissing the top of her head. He sits her down, as he’s walking to the hallway rounding the corner the little girl says bye daddy, and waves. He tries to hold back the tear in his eye, as that is the only thing the little girl has learned to say. The unfortunate fact of life, is when the job calls you must go. Where there’s work you must travel. You work to support your family too make sure they have food to eat, and clothes on their backs. Keeping them safe, and warm, while you are away. Each weekend you get to come home to spend time with your family, is one to be cherished.

 

– Jamie Whorton ©

Lying on my back gazing up at the night sky. Tracing the stars with one finger. Playing connect the dots, forming constellations. A flaming streak shoots across the sky. A meter shower in mid August. The moon is new. The night is black. Sequin silver pin holes, flicker, flashing, twinkle, dazzle. Bright beacons reaching out to all who gaze up at the night sky, such as I .  With each streaking star, and each shimmer. A dream is sparked igniting hope filled hearts.

 

 

 

Jamie Whorton ©