Month: April 2023

My room would be spare, 

a worn wood floor, a metal bed,

an old tiled bath, a dresser 

with an iridescent bivalve shell

for my rings, and a weathered, caned,

ladderback chair beside a muntined window

open to the sea, to the music 

of gulls and waves and lanyards. 

The curtain, delicate, diaphanous,

gathered and draped over a hook

to the left, would once have been 

a crisp and blinding white, but now,

humbled by years to yellow,

its beauty would make me cry.

On the first day, I would gently,

precisely, 

excise my mind

and set it on the sill

beside the salty sea

allowing it to air

and bleach

in the sweet perfumes 

of time and ocean. No thoughts 

no words would remain, 

just my soul dancing

along the shore, I would play,

and dance, and days would pass,

and the moonlight 

would hold me tenderly at night

and sing through my dreams,

and when I returned

home, my rested mind

softly secured once more,

with tentative language 

floating through its bright, 

clean corridors, yes,

when I returned home

and people stopped

to ask me 

how was your vacation,

I would whisper, “light

it was light

I am light

we are light,

all is light.”

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

That day we got up
after what I thought
was a perfect spring
and you said you were
leaving me for the storm
cloud down the street.

It’s always something.

Sunshine on my tongue 
walking through your rain,
and there in the distance,
some fine handsome colors 
are coming my way.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

I was walking the ice down the hill
during its diminishment,
much as it was walking me, 
I suppose, during mine. 
Bright flowers sang, 
and we spoke of many things: 
loneliness, mystery, endings, 
the unfairness and invitations 
inherent to melting, 
and we spoke of tangerines. 
We parted at the river, 
where the ice, now altered to liquid, 
and learning new language, trailed 
and trickled over the stones 
and the bank 
and into the flow, disappearing 
like one who merges with a crowd 
and is gone. 
I waved farewell, 
watching the vapor 
of our conversation fade, 
and then,
gathering myself together, 
I walked back up the hill feeling changed, 
searching for tangerines 
and my new name.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

I remember how the quiet felt,
how the silence waved through the day
in whispers, in music I could almost hum,
how each new day opened,
the space of it wide with mystery
and hushed meals of questions,
how we slouched tentatively
towards the horizon,
small and outside ourselves
moving through a dreamtime, confined
and limitless. Stories ended abruptly,
pages stopped turning,
I think the Earth did, too.
And then we grew accustomed
to the power of creating our lives from nothing.
Benediction, choosing the sacred meaning
of our own stories. How would we speak
of this time? What would we make of it?
Your story, what is your story?
Mine is of hope: I chose to plant seeds
I scraped the mud of my heart
and planted seeds. Fear yields
when its voice is sapped by joy
stirring possibility with hidden life;
you must see that even death
dies in a garden. I still choose
hope. Plant your seeds,
bid them lean to the light
and be astonished as your heart,
the world, now, bursts into bloom.

Wanted to share this wonderful site with you: J.S. Jen and his daughter Penny clearly love books! Their books, blog, and posts on social media are full of book reviews, videos, parenting tips, giveaways, and wonderful resources for reinforcing gratitude and kindness. Just an excellent site for children and all their adults. 💕 I’m honored to be the featured author this month, and happy to see the spotlight on The Rare, Tiny Flower! https://jsjenbooks.com/feature-of-the-month

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.