superhuman for too long,
flogging ourselves and those around
to match our measure.
Caffeine induced over-achievment dazzles
and wows for now, but fizzles abruptly
into mid-life dismay.
Our gadget-driven, shiny lives wind down
to gather dust motes and sun shafts,
as we learn to let our spirits light the way.
I'm seeing the night
coming on -
clouds deepening pink
nearly full moon in a light mist
slowly takes over the sky,
a bit sadder these days,
and tempered by this.
I pass over the right or the wrong of it
and just manage to handle what is,
(me drawn irresistibly to you as vapor trails
coiling their way through the sky,
entwine, combine and disperse).
And the west is still glowing behind me,
and I know there's still hope burning in me,
but I must get through this night that's before me.
Autumn Olive blooms sweeten the air,
and I cry when I let myself feel this.
All I ask is to share it with you.
Jamie Griffin and her three daughters live on an old
blueberry farm in South Jersey. She loves to read her poems
aloud and so, has been slow to submit them for print, but she'll
get over it. She has written a weekly gardening column for The
Islander, and articles for The Sandpaper, Family Magazine, and
Princeton Magazine. She writes a newsletter entitled, "The
Garden Dirt." Her poems have appeared in The Sandpaper and The