Tag: poetry

Unravel

He offered her a cloth
of intricately woven golden
threads, beautiful, yet
comforting, a shelter from
her storms.

Gratefully she accepted his
gift of warmth and love,
marveling at the complexity
of the workmanship and moved
by his generosity.

Bound by his offering, they
found peace and filled
their lives with love and
laughter, until she
noticed a tiny imperfection
in the cloth.

It wasn’t much, just a hint
of gray in the golden threads,
but it caused a dissatisfaction
in her restless spirit, and
old storms brewed anew.

Try as she might she could
not ignore the gray amidst
the gold.

Maybe, she thought, I can just
pull out this thread and all
will be well with my heart.
But once begun the task had
no end.

Gray became the color of
her discontent. One thread
led to another until she
touched more gray than
gold.

He watched her snipping
threads, not knowing how
to help, loving her even
as she worked at dismantling
his gift, his heart.

In the end, she sat alone
surrounded by threads of
gray and gold.

Too late she realized
the gray strands
were ones she’d added to
the tapestry by joining
her life to his.

Drawing by Kimberley Campbell-Picasa

Mind Field

Don’t mind me.
I’m gingerly negotiating
this space fraught with
ideas, absurdities, and
irreconcilable differences.

I’m of a mind to
chuck it all and navigate
someone else’s field for
at least a little while,
and see what may be gleaned.

Speak your mind
before someone else does
the speaking for you. Don’t
worry about the shrapnel;
it only hurts when they laugh.

Never mind.
This is mostly illusion
anyway, although most
of the pitfalls are real
and possibly explosive.

Mind your manners;
they will come in handy
when you have to deal
with the after effects
and resulting injuries.

Keep an open mind
and don’t judge others
whose fields might not
be as fertile as yours.
Boom! One step too far.

  

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!

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

These are actually called Steinbeck’s Crysanthemums. How about that?

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.

http://www.npr.org/2015/08/06/427851306/it-took-a-musicians-ear-to-decode-the-complex-song-in-whale-calls?utm_source=facebook.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=npr&utm_term=nprnews&utm_content=20150806

  

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.

  

Grand Children

How wonderful are
the children of my children?
They are grand, indeed.

Smart, sweet, and sassy;
loving, amusing, and kind.
Cute beyond belief.

I’d tell everyone
that the kids take after me,
but I’d be lying.

That’s me in the middle, holding our youngest grandchild and surrounded by my husband, kids, and grandkids.

Imprisoned

his prison had no walls,
no guards, no bars.
no warden ever surveyed
the non-existent cells.

yet he cowered there in
a corner of society’s
design; backed up against
the lies he’d been sold.

afraid to venture out
unarmed. emasculated
by manufactured fears
he sprayed his own poison.

propaganda kept him warm,
that and the butt of his
forty-five. he could spew
the paranoia in his sleep.

in his prison he dwells
shackled and hobbled
hoping today he might
justify pulling a trigger.

  
I am beyond weary of being told after every mass shooting in our country that it’s not the right time to address common sense gun regulation. We’ve waited long enough. It’s time. It’s been time for decades.

Musical Walk

thanks to you, Pandora
in the space of one brief walk
my life is infused
with sugar, and bad blood,
the beating heart of rock and roll,
happy! happy! happy!

adam levine lights me up
and my walk turns into a strut.
huey lewis holds my hand and
twirls me around.
imagine dragons and pharrel
got me singing along.

too happy not to dance
too old to care that
the neighbors all think
i’m crazy, crazy, crazy!
maybe i am, but life is
too short to waste on
pretending to be sane.

http://youtu.be/M7JVlpm0eRs
  
Peace, people!

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.