A life is more or less what
We choose to make of it
Choose with great care:
More love
Less censure
More acceptance
Less disdain
More family
Less conflict
More hugging
Less pain
More peace, people!
Tag: free verse
Catch Me
If I choose to wander
too far afield,
If I climb too steeply,
If I dare to chase a vague dream,
Will you choose to catch me?
If I do not always get the
words just right,
If I don’t always discern the truth,
If you and I cannot agree,
Will you still value me?
Or must I fit into the box
we’ve constructed,
the comfortable conveyance
that defines my role
for you to deem me worth catching?
Good Question
You, yes, you
sitting there
reading your
book, washing
the dishes,
or working
on your tan.
Do you love
yourself?
If not, then
it’s way past
time you began
learning how.
We have to first
love ourselves
before we can
truly, honestly
love others.
Fear, mistrust,
anger, might all
become dead
emotions,
ancient texts to
be buried and
never resurrected.
List yourself
first among those
you love, and
love will expand
to encompass the
whole world.
Peace (and love) people!
Thunder
She passed away
on a sunny
summer Sunday,
not a single cloud
in the sky.
No time for
regrets, tears,
or laments;
only just enough
time to die.
After all these years
And all those tears
With all her scars
And baseless fears
She always thought
Or hoped I guess that
Death might give some
notice, some alarm
at the last.
Instead she smelled
honeysuckle on the
wind and for some
reason heard
the dull roar of
thunder on this
cloudless day.
The Chrysanthemums
John Steinbeck’s short story, The Chrysanthemums, is one of my favorites and the inspiration for this poem. I’ve linked to the story below, and if you’ve never read it, I hope my poem encourages you to do so. I really hope it doesn’t discourage you! That would be awful!
Eliza’s Fate
She looked forward
to the small pleasures
after all:
ladybugs and
budding flowers,
the songs of
passing birds,
the smell of lilacs
in the spring.
What else was
meant for her
she’d never know,
but perhaps
this was it.
Most days she
thought nothing
of the lacks
in her life.
Most days she just
went through the motions.
Most days she felt
it was enough.
But.
Other days she
privately railed
against the sameness.
Other days she cried
silently in the kitchen.
Other days she felt the
absence of color.
When he rode through,
that stranger, speaking
in a familiar way,
her need clawed raw and
subversive. Embolding.
What if today? Maybe he?
She dared the unthinkable
opened herself to him.
Like chrysanthemums,
of little consequence.
http://thereycenter.org/uploads/3/4/3/2/3432754/the_chysanthemums-steinbeck.pdf
Hovering
Hovering
somewhere
between up
and down,
uneven ground
upsetting my
equilibrium.
One moment
I’m giddy,
filled with
exuberance,
capable of
great feats;
significant.
The next turn,
my anxiety takes
over, holding
me back, bringing
me down, struggling
to stay relevant
on life’s stage.
Peace is found
where I hover
one foot in
ecstacy the other
in agony, teetering
on the brink and
trying to stay me.
Peace, people.
The Songs of Whales
humpback males sing soulfully
beautiful songs beyond belief.
who among us can listen and
doubt their deep intelligence?
we only share this earth
it is not ours alone,
yet we have pretended,
squandered, and decimated.
This poem was inspired by a story on National Public Radio. I’ve linked to it below. I must admit, the songs made me cry.
Peace, people!
Perfect
Some things don’t need fixing
they’re fine just the way they are,
like mornings in the mountains
And evenings by the fire.
We don’t get perfect lives,
or even perfect days,
but moments of perfection
to savor along the way.
The trick is to recognize
these moments when they come:
a baby’s smile, a lover’s touch,
and acknowledge their existence.
To chase perfection is to lose it,
hold on too tightly and it’s gone
just smile to yourself in acceptance
and tuck the memory away in your heart.
Patchwork Heart
My heart has scattered,
Little pieces here and there.
First bits were claimed
Before I could name love,
When people were love.
Some parts were left behind
Before I was careful about
Giving them away; foolish girl.
Other pieces placed carefully
One a gift to my husband, then
Here son, here daughter
Take my heart; it is yours.
Their children claimed
My heart, as well, five more
Pieces given away.
I’d feared it was all gone,
But they’ve each given me
Parts of their own hearts.
This beautiful patchwork
Is what I cherish; it’s how I love.
small words
you
and
i,
we
and
us,
hold
love
small
but
mighty
words
rule
the
world.
Praying for Eyebrowz 