He Is

Painted Boat

As a child when the world felt impossible to understand

There he always was

Not one for unnecessary speak but how he loved to tell his good stories

The reason for their start never quite clear but the ending always delivered with loving, insightful touch

Smiling in that knowing way as he does, eyes squinted in the corners

His laugh lines always saying so much

My curiosity as a child, he always seemed to pause so comfortably in the middle of any conversation

Giving every person he engaged deserved thought

At ease with his own mind and soul

Telling our little ears to learn about the ocean tides, when and how they flow

Know when not to be scared but when you feel trouble, work hard for things you love, learn as much as you can, be your own person and no matter what always keep your values in hand

With the most difficult of questions in life there was never any rush

When you asked him in urgency, trying to navigate the heart and its sometimes misdirected ways

His answer was to measure you up with a fishing rod and take you out on the ocean for the day

Silently rocking back and forth in a boat while listening to the lapping waves

He never gave you an answer but you always found your way

He let you be and gave you space, smiling when he was proud

Disappointment wasn’t very often and never harsh or loud

As years went on I came to understand the reason he never directed us or handed us answers in response

He knew the gifts of love and safety, showing us how and where to find our peace

He taught us the answers we seek are always in the calm and quiet

He is my Uncle

I am his forever grateful niece

~Alisa Hutton

While You Wait

train-station

Perhaps there is value and patience learned in showing up for a train that is delayed

Trusting in know it is slowly finding its way

A passenger must question with the same trust and know

When we show up and wait for a train who has clearly derailed

Who only knows departure, never an arrival

Who jumps the tracks by nature and design

As you sit by the rails, stationed in your wait

Think about the train you wish to get on

Is it is simply running late

Or

Will it dangerously arrive

Derailing once more

Taking you out while you wait

In natural stride

~Alisa Hutton

Could It Be

could-it-be

She softly strokes humility because her broken soul jarred her awake one night

Cracks spilling over with authentic human, ruining the perfect white rug

Now breathing values where her once damp intentions filled her lungs with the murky waters of attainment

Her hands warming others with compassion and forgiveness because late one evening resentment and anger swallowed her whole

Walking with love and kindness, the opposite was once her truth

They dare not question what they see in her eyes

The familiarity an echo of their uncomfortable past

Beneath all of our good a different nature once filled our shoes

One the cherished child

The other our neglected disappointment

Gentle is how we choose to walk as our hearts didn’t always takes steps of such divine purpose

Our greatest capacity and strengths founded on our harshest days

File it away and don’t speak of it out loud

Secrets will keep us all safe

Or could it be?

All of us have our light

With thanks to our dark shadow

Not the other way

~Alisa Hutton

Pass The Salt

salt

Poetic confetti tossed with brazen flare

Words pouring with the clarity of a smooth, Russian vodka

Ignore the bite, something so fine can do no harm

Watch my eyes

They will tell you everything you do not hear

Listen to my words

You will see nothing at all

Touch my lips

I share them with many

Reach for my heart so you can feel me pull yours out

Sorry…you left your light on and I tripped on your soul

I was looking for mine while lost in my dark

I thought you were special

My shiny new thing

Pass the salt

~Alisa Hutton

It Never Was

bed

Is love given wasted?

A question only the once received will confirm

Extension of trust monotonous?

Seemingly only answered when broken

In time lessons pass to bring humble understanding

An appreciation of what genuine love was

Only then will the true sadness be felt

Knowing

It truly never was

~Alisa Hutton